Hysteresis
by LesbianCharming
Summary: This is a PG version of the same named fic from AO3. Not entirely Prime universe. Megatron should have died on the operating table but for some reason Ratchet brings him back to life. Why? The R rated version of this can be found on AO3 by the same name. I crave the feedback.
1. Chapter 1

With how brutal the damage was, no one really recognized the bot on the table. Ratchet had to unfasten the spark chamber and hastily shut it, to the panic of his medical partner.

"Scrap, Ratchet!" First Aid shouted, holding back the diodes to connect the life support, "What—?"

"Where was this mech found?"

Ratchet couldn't keep the tremble from his voice.

"In a wrecked ship outside of Ca—."

"Leave me."

First Aid protested; of course, he would he was a good doctor, "But sir, there is no way you can handle a bot this bulky with this much damage by yourself."

"Get out," Ratchet snapped.

The fear of his temper overrode any confusion or curiosity. First Aid was too young and the datafiles didn't quite match the patient's appearance anymore. He had gone through so many changes after his resurrection and Ratchet had been content pretending he was dead. But no matter the self-inflicted cosmetic wounds or the char of fire fight, Ratchet would know that spark anywhere.

Once First Aid left in a huff and Ratchet assured all visfeeds were off and impossible to turn back on, he re-opened the spark chamber to see the purple blue swirl of Megatron's fading spark.

Most of the cosmetic wounds looked self-inflicted and gave Ratchet pause as he picked up the set aside diodes for connecting the required support.

What are you doing? He asked himself, This is the machine that mangled Cybertron and tried to destroy Earth.

He looked as well as he did the first time he offlined with sustainable damage. The scanner protested at his hesitation. Delicate systems, like a processor, could corrupt if not made right. If Ratchet was going to save him, he'd better fucking get to it.

Ratchet quickly attached the support nodes around the spark, isolating it from any feedback. He then manually opened cooling lines to alleviate any heat that would damage his internals. He quickly pulled his own line out, his medical memory not allowing him to go and find coolant elsewhere, and jettisoned an ounce of his own to make up for leaks.

Once he was cool, what mattered was getting enough treatment to stabilize the behemoth. His spark had to be balanced first. However, in Ratchet's experience it was up in the air how that would work out. Dark Energon was a Schrödinger's cat of survivability; he'd either wake up a spark-eating zombie or a worn out megalomaniac.

Ratchet wasn't too sure which he preferred.

Probably, the former.

Ratchet's servos worked quicker than ever, the wartime haste coming back to him. With a connection that wouldn't be the last, an EM field radiated outward- a good sign processor function was online. Whether or not it was fully functional was debatable, but at least he was still online.

Cycles passed as Ratchet laboriously took the task of reattaching wires, patching tubes, and restarting individual systems. Megatron's spark finally stopped flickering. Ratchet couldn't help but settle back and look over his work with a sense of pride. It had been a long time since he had single-handedly brought a mech back from the brink of off-lining and since it was Megatron, Ratchet felt like he could gloat.

Now that the haze of bringing his patient into recovery faded, Ratchet was faced with the issue of getting this humungous bastard away from the emergency ward. It wasn't as if he could strap Megatron to his back and lug him around.

No, he would strap him with the needed support unit in a scrap bag- a bag used for dead frames- and wheel him out.

Ratchet was sure an unmarked bag would be noticed, let alone an unmarked bag emhe /emwas pulling around. Ratchet, in his new role, had never lost a patient.

He hoped he didn't regret not losing this one.


	2. Chapter 2

Megatron snapped online with a violent spark of passion to live, thrashing out of the berth sheets and tangling up in his support line. After the initial static and confusion, he realized he was in the last place he'd ever thought to be: a bedroom on Cybertron.

Once the initial haze of audio static faded, he realized the soft noise he heard in the background was recorded organic ambience. Earth sounds. For a desperate klik, Megatron thought he was saved by one of his own; an old lieutenant or vehicon perhaps.

No, the room was far too nice, too pristine and organized for vehicon tastes. The berth was too large- why would they have excess? This was the room of an elite.

Megatron thought the worst for a moment- he'd become part of some odd Decepticon trafficking ring. They'd fix him up only to have him serve some kind of master. But there was no collar, no tracking device, and no resistance when he pulled off his support line. It only chirped happily. He wasn't trapped and he'd been treated with the highest medical care. Not even Shockwave could be this delicate with his medical setups. He hadn't even been form-locked to assure he wouldn't transform out the very illegal weapon codes he still had in his hardline.

He'd been buffed as well, he noticed as he felt himself out, this was not a dream's manifestation. His hard, rough edges were sanded and artfully sculpted away. The char marks were healing up nicely and aside from a few dents, Megatron looked and felt fine.

Some bot had done a very thorough job at assuring he was well.

It was humbling and flattering all in one go. Megatron had many enemies and really no one in this universe would he call a friend. It was unfamiliar to know he was cared for. He flicked off the berth covers to prowl around his surroundings.

There was no way an Autobot would let him live. Megatron had his fair share of Autobots after him, Decepticon's too. No matter how deep he put himself into exile there was always some bot there wanting to rip his spark from his frame. It was rare he woke up from heavy damage with anything more than an empty tank and aching spark.

A sudden beeping made Megatron lurch back to the safety of the berthside. A small shuffling from the other room could be heard and the alarm stopped. A voice began speaking; muffled, low and familiar.

It couldn't be possible, not this bot and not in this universe.

Megatron leaned against the wall, studying the room. Now that Megatron had an idea of who his savior or captor was, he wasn't too sure he could face him.

There were few bots who didn't let the passage of time change them and Megatron knew him to be one. The muffled speaking stopped and Megatron cleared his intake and stepped into the adjoining room.

Ratchet was busying himself with work, a familiar sight after all this time. When he saw Megatron looming from the corner of his optics he engaged his blades. Just like old times.

"Primus, you scared me," Ratchet confessed, transforming his servos and clenching them reflexively.

"Is this a simulation?" Megatron asked, just to make sure he wasn't being duped.

Ratchet ignored it, asking a question of his own, "What were you doing to close to Cybertron?"

Megatron didn't wish to answer so he countered with another, "Why did you save me?"

"Medical Protocol," Ratchet gruffed out, turning back to his work.

Megatron knew it to be a lie. Long ago, Ratchet himself told him there was no hidden line of code that forced medics to fix patients. Knockout was definitely proof of that. It seemed neither of them wanted to share how they ended up here.

"Optimus-"

"Optimus," Ratchet bristled, "Is not here. Don't pretend as if that news surprises you."

Megatron allowed a silence to fall between them. The medic seemed hostile as ever; there was no reason why he should expect any different. After the fall of Cybertron, Megatron managed to get his servos on the medic. They came to words and he'd pointed out to the captured Ratchet that he alone did not cause its downfall. The medical officer sneered and stated that out of all those at fault, he was the only one left alive and shared all of the blame. It was believed their rivalry began when Optimus staged the most daring rescue to retrieve his watchdog. But Ratchet disliked Megatron from the start of Orion and his relations.

Megatron felt his spark waiver and he clutched at his chamber. Dizzy was the least of it.

"You jerked out your support lines didn't you?" Ratchet asked flatly. The war's end had not allowed his optics' keenness to ebb.

Somehow, the medic was right there with him. They didn't touch, but his presence served as a stabilizer.

"Easy there," Ratchet said softly, far opposed from his harsh tone. "You really shouldn't have done that."

Megatron didn't dare lean on the Autobot, "Am I dying?"

Ratchet laughed, "Puh-lease, as if I'd let a patient die in my apartment."

"Are you going to kill me?"

Ratchet looked genuinely surprised and turned away, his roughness returned, "I'd bet you'd like that. You should return to your berth."

Ratchet didn't offer any assistance walking, but instead waited patiently for Megatron as he dragged himself back.

"I'm going to put some fluxitive in your lines," Ratchet informed him in a very traditionally calm doctor-y tone. "It will stabilize your field, but you'll probably recharge a lot. Don't worry. You're in good hands."

Megatron watched as the medical officer did his best to cover, reconnect, and busy himself over the warlord.

"This won't last long. By tomorrow you'll probably stabilize on your own."

Megatron was sure this was some trick by Ratchet's servo, some means to get him to live miserably. He did his best to sound ungrateful. "Thank you, Doctor."

Ratchet's concerned faceplate was the last thing he recalled to before drifting into a medicated recharge.


	3. Chapter 3

Megatron woke slowly once again as his recharge inertia slowly dropped to the end of its cycle. Only this time it was to a familiar place: Ratchet's berthroom. He knew better to bolt up. Instead he languidly sat up and looked around his resting place.

Ratchet sat on a chair- obviously pulled from another room- taking a recharge of his own. He was slumped over a datascreen, helm nestled in his own palm- a picture of an unintentional slumber. Megatron had to wonder if he was being guarded, or just kept company.

There were no support cables connecting to his spark chamber and despite how miserable Megatron felt, his systems checked out. Ratchet did his job; Megatron was alive despite all efforts in the contrary. But why had _this_ Autobot saved him?

Their history was anything but pleasant.

Megatron leaned over to the medic, easily closing the gap between them. As he outstretched his claw, Ratchet's optics flew open and he shifted. Megatron drew back and looked away.

"Glad to see you're feeling better," Ratchet spoke as he usually did. "Care for anything to drink?"

"No." Megatron really did feel low, but he didn't want to admit it to the medic.

"Very well, but you will be eating something today," Ratchet retorted. They sat in silence before he began again, "If I recall, you enjoyed reading so I can provide you with as much data as you'd like until we figure out how to smuggle you out of here."

Megatron didn't reply as Ratchet threw his datapad onto the berthsheets.

"If you're worried, no one else knows you're here. I can't imagine the mass hysteria if anyone knew. If you want to leave, I won't stop you. However, as your physician I know you'll need rest, refueling, and a little time so at least stay a few cycles. But while you are here I'd like for you to do your best to stay under the radar. No renewing a revolution in my berthroom please."

If Megatron could believe it, Ratchet was almost joking. But he still gave no reply, just pulled the datapad across the sheets to him.

"I'll be seeing patients in the other room today so don't come out until I go to work. Even if it sounds like I'm in trouble or there is a scuffle, do me a favor and don't start being a hero."

Megatron couldn't afford to pass up the opportunity to know more about the planet he exiled himself from. He nodded. He could stay until it was no longer beneficial. He nodded absentmindedly.

It was only after Ratchet left the room did Megatron fully realize what was said as a parting insult. What did the medic mean by trouble?

The Autobot returned a little later with energon in servo.

"Eat this sometime before the end of the day or I'll raise hell when I come back from work."

Megatron ignored the Earthen phrase. It had been awhile for the two of them and Ratchet seemed attached to the Autobot allies.

"What kind of trouble?" Megatron finally grumbled out.

Ratchet frowned, "Pardon?"

"You said 'trouble' what sort of trouble would you be getting into?"

"Ah," a smile, practiced much like his medicine, rose to the medic's faceplate, "Well, I accept patients here that hospitals might turn away. A great deal of them are unruly."

Megatron clutched the datapad, "I won't trouble you then."

He expected the words to soothe the medic but he was only given that same worried look he remembered. But if Ratchet had any concern he did not voice it as he left the room.

Megatron wanted to revive the burning hatred for the Autobot medic, he truly did. To find some deception or treachery in his actions. Perhaps he was just too weary to feel something so vivid.

It wasn't as if Megatron didn't remember why their rivalry extended well beyond the reach of the war. Megatron had made it clear it was personal when he put a bounty on the medic's helm, so high that Optimus had hid him away, further seating the medic in a dark place in Megatron's spark.

Ratchet felt the same. He did his fair share of insulting Megatron's pride at every chance. Their feelings were mutually hot, but Ratchet's last encounter with him was more of a weary hatred, one that the ex-con couldn't imagine would abate.

Which brought back the question: why did this Autobot save him?

That question wouldn't be answered now, especially since the mech in question was gone.

Megatron opened the datascreen. Ratchet had already queued up a few documents of interest. It was obvious that is what he was doing before he fell into recharge. Megatron vented out softly, there were definitely catered to his tastes. He clacked his claws against the screen, opening the first file.

Although he read the words on screen, his attention was divided. If Optimus was here he would demand Megatron's harmony with the Autobot. He had no recent reason to do anything vile to Ratchet, him not having not done anything outside his usual grumpy demeanor.

Megatron squinted at the screen. It was becoming rather difficult to concentrate. He glanced at the energon.

It felt refreshing as it slid down his throat. Cooling and fresh; it was the best that Megatron had the privilege of enjoying in quite some time. He was glad for his solitude as he greedily drank it down.

Once the energon fueled his systems he recalled Ratchet's reluctance to touch him and his engaging of his blades.

Knockout had once commented that Ratchet's medical method was far too "hands-on" for him. Knockout had vanity and sterility all down to a simple science unless the bot in questions met his standards. Ratchet showed a personal touch with all of his patients but seemed almost the polar opposite with him. Despite his careful medical treatment, Megatron realized he shouldn't take his rescue personally.

For the first time, the document in front of him distracted him from his Ratchet problems. It was a passage from the new council constitution. It read almost glyph for glyph identical to an addendum he proposed in pre-war Cybertron.

Megatron restarted the document, poring through and finding his language interwoven throughout.

A loud noise outside the berthroom dragged his attention from research. It annoyed him at first, the loud noise and then low arguing. Apparently Ratchet did get unruly patients.

Although he did entertain the thought of what would happen if the Autobot was in trouble. He was far too invested in the words to care. There was little he could do given the circumstances anyways.

Megatron pulled up the next file.

Ratchet found him hours later, transfixed by data. When he broke the warlord's concentration it looked as if he was resurfacing into the world.

"I'm going to work now," the medic didn't hide the concern in his tone, "Don't answer the door. Try to recharge. If any police unit finds you here they'll call me so don't be loud or rash."

The Autobot lingered, as if he wanted to say more, fretting as he always did over a familiar patient. But ultimately he scurried out the door and the warlord was left alone with nothing but the dwelling thought that perhaps he was wrong to think Ratchet was not somehow invested in his care.


	4. Chapter 4

Megatron woke with a start when he heard a clatter outside of the door. Apparently, he'd nodded off sometime during the night while exploring the archives of New Cybertron.

At first, he wondered if he should be alarmed. Perhaps it was an intruder. Some here to kill him or steal him away. But he heard the familiar cursing of the Autobot medic and relaxed.

He flung off the berthsheets, suddenly realizing he detested being so placid. When he stepped out of the room he paused in the doorway. Ratchet was picking supplies off the floor, bracing himself with one servo. Megatron remained quiet as he observed with tilted helm as the medic collected his things.

When Ratchet finally turned he gave a yelp and engaged his blades. Megatron waited patiently for him to compose himself before speaking.

"Where were you? He didn't mean to sound so harsh and demanding.

"Work," Ratchet folded his servos, an optic ridge raising as his hip swiveled. It felt like a challenge to Megatron.

They stood in dead silence for a klik.

"Have you had energon?"

"No," Megatron leaned against the doorway framing his form. He hadn't done anything but sleep and read, but he wasn't about to admit that.

Ratchet vented out a sigh, "I guess not. I'll get you some."

Now that Megatron had all his wits about him, he scanned the luxurious flat Ratchet called home. There were large windows at the end of a spacious living room. Or what should have been a spacious living room. There was no vidscreen or data console. The large room looked more like a cozy hospital with a couch and a medical berth. There were marbled floors leading to a kitchen, tucked in next to the door.

"Nice place," Megatron sounded a little bitter.

"It's too big," Ratchet made his way to the kitchen. He gathered an energon cube from a compartment, "And they got far too fancy with it all. Refrigerated energon? Give me a break."

So that's why the energon felt so heavenly to his systems. The medic set the energon cube at the very end of a nicely made kitchen peninsula then retreated to the far corner of the kitchenette.

"Have I been in recharge long?" There were no windows in the berthroom, but in here Megatron could tell it was early morning. Perhaps days had passed.

"No, probably not. I've just been at work all night." Ratchet was doing his best to look busy, but he'd obviously cornered himself in the kitchen. "The size of the place helps me see patients and they can sleep here if they need to."

Megatron nodded and looked at the living room and sipped his energon, "Do you have many patients?"

"Yes, the first ones will be here in an hour or so. You'll have to stay in the berthroom. I trust my patients but I know of only a few who'd have the decency not to run to the nearest police station and report you."

Ratchet took a step forward and looked him up and down, "I can see you're eager to move around but don't overdo it. I'll have to scan you sometime today."

"You're welcome to do it now, doctor," Megatron placed his half-finished energon on the counter and spread apart his servos, welcoming the medic to come closer.

Ratchet recognized the trap, "No, after my day patients. If I find anything wrong I wouldn't be able to fix it. Drink your energon and go back inside."

Megatron wondered what would happen if he refused. What would Ratchet do if his precious patient left him?

That would be senseless. Megatron would be torn apart before he entered Cybertron's stratosphere. It was amazing his codes hadn't alerted every scanner in a mile radius. He would stay, observe and discern a way to leave covertly. He would exploit every last bit of this strange kindness the Autobot paid him.

He finished his energon and retired to the berthroom. This time he wouldn't let himself get fascinated with Cybertrons rules. The cities and infrastructure had to be founded on existing systems. Megatron would have to research building plans, roads oil and water lines.

Ratchet was far too fussy. Optimus' lapdog needed to be taught manners long ago. Megatron wasn't some weak Autobot or some rusty old medical unit. There was nothing wrong with him that hadn't been fixed.

He didn't realize he began pacing across the room. Megatron stopped himself and began exploring, checking under the berth, looking in drawers. It seemed Ratchet didn't have many personal effects besides the music player on the table. That probably had nothing but Earth sounds on it. How like an Autobot to get nostalgic for a rusty old mud ball. There was another door besides the one that lead into the main room.

Megatron stalked across the room and angrily pressed the open key.

It was a lavish washroom complete with a sizable bath and standalone shower. It seemed Ratchet returned to his lofty perch, as if the war didn't even happen for him.

Then again, the luxurious style tub looked unused there was even dust forming on the jets. His patients probably used it more than he did. What a waste.

Ratchet had given 'bots his luxuries from the very beginning. If you weren't a raging jerk you could visit the medic in his penthouse in the finest part of Iacon as Cybertron's Dionysius.

That made Megatron pause. Was Ratchet as easy to accept pleasure as payment in his makeshift hospital apartment. Orion's pretty faceplate was no longer a deterrent for the medic now, right?

Megatron recognized the bitterness rising inside him like a purge.

Once, Megatron wished to separate Optimus from his medic. To watch the Prime squirm as he had to choose between his beloved friend and his cause. Forcing Ratchet to work earnestly for him was a clever revenge. It may have led to his downfall as well.

But it was not Optimus without his medic now but Ratchet without his Prime. He was miserable enough to where no simple luxury could ease his pain.

Well, if the fucking medic wasn't going to use it, Megatron would. It would have to be cleaned but damned if he hadn't resolved to exploit every luxury he had.

Megatron soaked until the temperature dropped to ice and then soaked again. His joint felt amazing and the second round he dumped some random soak into the mix.

It was heaven. The medic didn't know what he was missing.

Megatron lifted his pede up, watching the viscous fluids run off it. He dropped it instinctively when he heard the berthroom door hiss open.

"Megatron," came a muffled call.

"In here."

Ratchet opened the door and looked as if he regretted it. His confusion turned into a glared, "Making yourself comfortable?"

"Perfectly so," Megatron gave a toothy grin.

Ratchet folded his servos, "We have some time before my next patients arrive."

There was a pause.

"I was just thinking I could give you a scan but you're busy."

"Extremely."

Ratchet shook his helm and waved a servo, "Don't rust in there, it'll be a pain to clean up."

Megatron felt impish at being so pleased with Ratchet's irritation. But he had a shortage of cheap thrills without a constant threat against his life.

Megatron finally ended his luxurious rebellion and returned to the berthroom. After working out his joints and doing everything short of transforming, he went back to reading. It had to be close to dark soon and Megatron wondered if Ratchet slept out on the couch.

Yet he said there would be more patients arriving. How many patients exactly did the medical officer see? Judging from the noises it was about one every two hours or so. Then Ratchet would go to work at the end of the day. But he hadn't gone to work today and stated more patients would be coming.

Megatron would doze off and be woken by the noise of another patient every few cycles or so. So the medic worked through the night at home.

He was finally revived after a long stretch of recharge when Ratchet returned. From the light streaming in from behind him, it looked to be early morning.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but I wanted to do the scan before I went into work."

Megatron obliged the doctor by sitting up on the berth, waiting sleepily for Ratchet to complete his scan.

"Did you see patients all night?"

"Of course," Ratchet sounded hoarse and strained, "Nights are my busiest times because of the cover it allows my more paranoid guests."

Megatron said nothing, merely waited for the medic to give him a proper diagnosis.

"Okay, well you seem fine. You can move around the apartment. I want you to try transforming but if there is no room don't strain yourself moving the furniture. Please try and have one full cube of energon before I get back. Your frame would allow more for two but I don't expect miracles from you."

"Yes, Ratchet."

The use of his name seemed to bring shivers to the medical officer, "Don't be a pain. I'm heading to work."

Megatron listened at the medic stomped through the loft and the noise of the outer door closing and locking.

Megatron was alone.


	5. Chapter 5

He was gone too long.

There was no way he was at work. Megatron explicitly reminded himself, per his readings, labor services demanded half-shifts to prevent burnout of certain functions including miners and medical units.

Megatron didn't bother to stop his pacing this time. He was far too nervous. What if they were torturing Ratchet, trying to get information from him? How exactly had he made it from the outer reaches of the system to the glory of Cybertron itself? Someone had to know he was here besides Ratchet. The damned medic should just tell them. Megatron didn't deserve to be cared for or protected. Ratchet knew that best of anyone!

It was only hours, but it seemed like entire days had passed leaving Megatron prone to fancy. This was still Cybertron after all. Perhaps they were taking the medic apart piece by piece. The warlord could practically hear the screams of agony from the medic.

Each noise at the door made him jump and check for some news, some indication that Ratchet was well.

The medic would get it when he returned for sure. Megatron would make him talk about where he'd been, even if it meant forcing him down for an answer. If that scrapped up piece of junk was whole and unharmed the ex-Con was going to make him wish he was offline. How dare he make him worry like this?

 _Worry?_

Megatron's sudden questioning of his emotional was interrupted by a click of a latch unlocking, but the door didn't open.

Curious, the warlord stalked to the door, only to see two frames waiting by the door.

Quickly, Megatron turned. He couldn't make it to the berthroom in time. Instead he attempted to squeeze into the small wheel closet by the door. He'd almost squeezed in when the outer door hissed open and the remains of a conversation were heard.

"-absolute moron can't tell between and energon line and an exhaust port," came the unfamiliar whiny voice.

"Well, not everyone was forged a medic," Ratchet sounded detached from the conversation, obviously concerned for the presence of his guest.

"Yes, well. He needs to learn quicker, we have memory chips for a reason."

Ratchet gave a noncommittal noise before Megatron heard the hiss of the door closing. Whoever the whiny bot was, he was intent on staying.

"Oh," came Ratchet's voice, "Did you want to stay and have something to drink?"

From Ratchet's tone it sounded like that's exactly the opposite of what Ratchet wanted to do. Megatron leaned in and listened against the door frame.

"I could afford one before I go."

"Of course."

Megatron listened to the flurry of noise.

"They say they might revive the Forge, or even start letting us cold-construct bots again," the other Autobot sounded too close. Megatron pulled back, hoping that the jammer on his em field was still working.

"Yes, I heard. The Council wants a population boom I presume," From Ratchet's tone it seemed like he was distracted.

The stranger laughed, "Yes. I think it would be good to have some medical builds."

 _Primus_ , Megatron could have dropped to his pedes. Whoever this was decided to come on strong.

"Yes," was Ratchet always this oblivious, "I would enjoy the help."

"I think two intelligent medical units; one with the breadth and knowledge of eons of medical innovation and another with the youth and capability of carrying, could partake in that sort of ritual."

"I really couldn't say Medicon has _eons_ of medical innovation," Ratchet snorted.

Megatron winced, Ratchet was out of the game. He almost felt sorry for the other bot. Then again, this stranger is why he was stuck in the closet. He really wasn't sure he would stay there for the duration of the kind of encounter this 'Bot wanted.

"I was talking about you," the voice was further away, the youngster was spelling it out for him. Megatron had to admire his boldness, "I was talking about us."

"Ah."

There was an awkward pause as Ratchet presumably mentally kicked himself in the aft.

The young stranger broke the silence, "I've heard the rumors about you losing that patient."

The ex-Con knew that was a mistake, if Ratchet lost a patient it would push out any though of interfacing or sparking.

"You don't have to overwork yourself to make up for it. As a team, you and I could do wonderful things for Cybertron. I know you miss the Prime but you don't have to do this on your own anymore."

Megatron couldn't help but peep, he cracked the closet door open with his claws. The youngster had Ratchet cornered, servo in hand practically pressing him against the door of the refrigeration unit. The movement rewarded him with a glare from the irate medic and he ducked back in the closet.

"First Aid, I understand your sense of duty to the Cybertron community. But now is not the time to discuss this sort of thing."

First Aid sound crestfallen and did his best to hide his pain behind mature words, "I understand, another time then, Ratchet?"

"Of course."

Megatron knew that was a no. This whelp would have a hard time finding Ratchet alone for a few millennia.

They dispensed pleasantries for a few more minutes, but the mood was far from sensual. The young bot probably took the hint and they exchanged goodbyes shortly after.

Ratchet opened the closet door and Megatron stared down at the fuming.

"Far be it for me to judge, but I don't understand why you compromised yourself for a glimpse into my personal life."

He was angry but for which reason, Megatron could only hazard a guess.

But there was something else bugging Megatron.

"It's been a long while since you lost a patient, Ratchet."

Ratchet turned on his heel, angrily cleaning up, "It was you, you half baked…"

Megatron allowed the string of explicatives to continue, once he heard the final half muttered 'glitch' he continued, "So, is that a friend from work?"

"No, he is an understudy. He'll take over for me as head of hospital training," Ratchet huffed, "He's ambitious and uses the drivel the Council spews as a mask for his own desires. _Don't._ "

Ratchet turned on his heel again, pointing a single digit to Megatron, " _Don't_ think for one moment you can tease me with this. We are not friends."

Megatron faked being wounded.

" _Don't_ ," Came the warning tone again, "I _will_ undo the damaged I fixed if you utter another word."

"Ah," Megatron leaned against the kitchen peninsula, "So you finally hold it above me. Finally getting what you desire from the broken Decepticon warlord."

It crossed some unseen line. He'd only been teasing but Ratchet looked hurt, his professional pride wounded, "That isn't…"

It was an oddly raw moment from the medic and Megatron already wanted to take it back. To retrieve the anger from just kliks before. Although, the thought did cross his mind that the medic wanted something for his care, his pained expression quelled any rebellion that the act wasn't some glitch in his systems.

"Ratchet."

"Don't," Ratchet turned away, hiding his optics. But Megatron wasn't dumb. He couldn't mistake the slumping shoulder plates or the way his helm leaned against the refrigerator door.

There had to be something Megatron could do.

"I miss Optimus as well," Megatron stated, "I know it's my fault he's gone and I'm sorry for it. I was blind."

"You've already apologized," Ratchet talked mostly to the appliance in front of him, "I have to go get some supplies before my next patient arrives."

Megatron didn't want to be alone but it was unthinkable to reach out for that servo. To pull the Autobot back and tell him as much. To tell him the reason for his proximity to Cybertron was the possibility of rejoining the Prime in the Allspark was unthinkable. This was the last being in the universe he could confess that kind of selfishness to.

"What if your patient arrives before you return?"

Ratchet opened the door, "Just stay hidden, please. I don't know what to do with you here."

Megatron watched as the door separated them.

In his exile, Megatron thought a lot about his past actions. He thought about the war and those who joined him on the side of Decepticon fury. Those who were berated, called scum, and hated for the beliefs Megatron instilled. In hindsight, his descent into tyranny was almost immediate, once he had the power he sought, he reveled in it and he turned his most trusted lieutenants, strategists, scientists, and intelligent Decepticons into nothing but tools for his reign. He didn't recognize the decay of the planet under his watch or his ranks growing with those who only wanted to be on the winning team. This is why so many wanted him offline. This is why he should be offline.

Having Ratchet save him out of kindness was humbling, and Megatron did not like being humbled. He wanted the medic's morals impure for that reason. If Ratchet saved him for glory or some dark purpose, it would remind him that the scars of war didn't plague only the warlord.

If he burnt or scarred himself, he would only be gently repaired by the medic, so he resigned himself to the berthroom, to wait until Ratchet allowed him to leave.

Megatron was pensive. He didn't recharge, instead he lay on the floor, listening to muffle tones of the apartment around him. His processor turning to that familiar dull static when he thought about what brought him to this place. Part of him wanted to leave, to return to the inevitable whispers of war that followed him. Fighting was safe. He'd been fighting since he was forged. Fighting for his survival, his spark. It seemed Ratchet wasn't the only one returning to the way things were before.

A loud clatter broke the warlord's attention. He almost waved it off but he heard a worried, unfamiliar voice shout out the medic's name.

Ratchet told him not to expose himself, which was the only warning that held Megatron lingering at the door.

"I'll take you to your berth," came a low offer.

"No," Ratchet, despite whatever happened, was still concerned, "I'll just sit a moment in here."

Something happened, that surge of worry fluttered at the edges of Megatron's processor. He cursed the presence of the patient. The voices outside the door turned into noise until finally, in relief, the outer door opened and closed.

"Megatron."

He was surprised to hear Ratchet call for him. He opened the door and saw him sitting on the couch.

"I'm sorry to trouble a patient, but I might need some help preparing for the next one."

Megatron frowned, "Next patient."

"Yes, please."

"What happened?"

Ratchet avoided his optics, "Nothing a little sit won't help."

Megatron accessed his memory, recalling words from another about the medic, "You haven't been recharging."

Megatron did the math in his helm, how long had Ratchet had an actual recharge? Last time Megatron saw the medic resting it had looked like an accident.

Megatron loomed over the medic, who tiredly looked up at the behemoth. Megatron was more firm this time, "You haven't be recharging."

"Of course not," Ratchet snapped, "There hasn't been time. I've made it up in fuel."

"Your systems burn double for every cycle you don't have at least four hours of recharge," Megatron sneered, " _Your_ recommendation, medic. What kind of fool doctor can't even take care of himself?"

Ratchet shook, an obvious engine heave.

"And you're still going to see the next patient aren't you?"

"Who else will?" Ratchet snapped, maintaining his attitude even while exhausted.

"You are too foolish to be admirable," Megatron bit out.

"I know."

Megatron angrily stormed to the refrigerated energon storage, he stalked back to the medic and slammed down the fuel. He didn't know why he was so angry.

"I'm sorry."

Megatron growled out, "What's that, Autobot?"

Ratchet looked angrily up at him, "I was apologizing-"

Megatron curled up his mouth, "You don't even know what for. You're apologizing because you think it will _fix_ something. What do I care, fix them until you die and they move on to the next medical unit willing to throw away their life _for nothing_. How many patients will you lose if you exhaust yourself so much you become obsolete?"

Megatron stormed away, back to his infuriating prison of Ratchet's berthroom. He was becoming more and more indignant about that glitch fixing him.


	6. Chapter 6

Megatron cooled off by the time Ratchet had at last dragged himself through the front door. Megatron sat on the couch, combing through more recent news. The medic was surprised to see him, but quickly covered it up. Megatron couldn't help but notice that the Autobot was wobbling.

"I could rest more," Ratchet admitted from the kitchen

Megatron raised an optic ridge and met Ratchet's pure blue optics staring at him over the counter. He set down the datapad.

"I should get some rest tonight."

Megatron didn't like that _should_ and he narrowed his optics. Ratchet looked nervous as he said, "I brought home some energon and a few things for a patient."

The flier stood up, stretching out and catching Ratchet's wobbling flinch out of the corner of his optics. The wobble pushed him away from his support and the medic crashed to the floor.

Megatron vented, he had a few things he wanted to say, but knew he shouldn't. Instead he slowly walked to the counter. "Ratchet."

His systems were starting to heat up which explained the need for pre-cooled energon. How many times had he run himself to the point of exhaustion, "Uh huh?"

He was panting for cool air. Megatron looked down on him with bemused red optics, "Enjoying yourself down there?"

Ratchet flicked his optics to him, "Immensely."

Megatron leaned against the counter, making a noise of agreement and nodding.

"Can I have some help up?"

Megatron was surprised at the question and turned to look at Ratchet, "Really?"

"Of course _really_. Unless you get some sick thrills from me sitting on my aft."

Megatron rounded the peninsula, "You usually engage your surgical tools when I get close."

Ratchet was venting loudly from his exhausted systems, "With good reason."

At least he wasn't afraid to admit it. Megatron hadn't exactly been kind during the war but he'd been respectful.

Or so he thought.

Ratchet flinched as claws closed around his forearms and Megatron heaved him up. As soon as the medic steadied, Megatron made a show of releasing him, as if he abhorred the touch.

It was a mistake, and Ratchet toppled forward as soon as he took a step.

Megatron fought the impulse to grab his helm and drag him to the berth himself.

"Maybe I should get some energon first," Ratchet told him from the floor.

Megatron rolled his optics and stepped over the mess of a machine on the floor and pulled a cube from his refrigerated storage to hand off to the medic. He leaned against the counter and vented.

"I'm sorry," Ratchet told the floor, but Megatron could hear.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I'm usually alone when this happens," Ratchet admitted, "I'm not used to having a long-time patient. They usually just stay a day or so."

"So, what was your plan, Autobot," Megatron extended a claw, steering the conversation down a typically selfish path, "When you found me?"

"I didn't find you," Ratchet took a sip, "I didn't even recognize you until I opened your spark chamber. I panicked and knew you had to get into my apartment and fixed."

Ratchet trailed off leaning his helm against the wall.

"How kind of you to think me unsuited for death."

"I thought about it," Ratchet told him softly, "I hesitated for just one moment. But given the state you were in I knew that if Optimus were there, he'd want me to stabilize you."

It wasn't all too selfless, then, knowing this particular fool. Autobots were always bound by some foolish invisible honor.

"I don't know."

Megatron knew the medic was babbling at this point, "Don't recharge here."

He stepped over the medic and turned to face him. Ratchet's optics were doe-like as he looked up at the warbuild.

"I don't know."

Megatron didn't want to know what Ratchet didn't know, but he didn't like how laser focused he was in his hazy state.

He reached for the energon cube and Ratchet pulled away, "No, I'll finish it."

"Hurry up."

"Don't _rush_ me, Megatron," there was something to be admired about Ratchet's ability to be difficult in the face of a murderer.

Megatron threw up his servos and leaned against the wall, watching the outside world rush by behind the reflection of light in the window.

Cybertron was coming into itself. Megatron felt a tinge of longing, to be out there among the crowded streets and the reflection of energon pools on the silicon siding.

There was a clunk that drew his attention back to Ratchet. The medic finished his energon as promised and let the empty cube fall to the side as he attempted to stand.

Megatron lurched forward to help but Ratchet clucked at him, "I can do it myself."

"Am I to suffer through your stumblings?"

"I suffered through your war," Ratchet gave him a dead-optic stare.

Megatron rolled his optics and gave a cross noise. Ratchet made his way to the closet door and opened it. The former gladiator dug a claw into the medic's shoulder and dragged him back. With a swift swipe, he keyed the door closed. He expected to see a faceplate full of fear but Ratchet seemed rather unperturbed by the digging claws. With no other options, he dragged the medic behind him to the correct door.

"I won't be able to sleep with you in here."

Megatron bared his teeth again, "Nothing to worry about. I will be in the other room."

"That's not what I mean."

Megatron caught the meaning, "I'll lock the door."

Ratchet shook his helm, "Nope."

Megatron appreciated the honesty but he was starting to get concerned. Ratchet seemed more drunk than exhausted. He grasped the medic's chin, lifting with the edge of his thumb and forefinger.

There was a massive difference between their size. Ratchet was the size of his second in command, just a little heftier. He could almost be lifted in one servo.

His optics weren't unfocused in that tell-tale sign of drunkenness.

"I tried to kill it you know," the medic returned to his rambling.

Megatron vented and lolled his helm back, "What did you kill?"

"I _tried_ to kill it. For years I tried to get rid of that tiny bit of optimism that managed to survive in me, through the war," Ratchet rested his helm on Megatron's grip. "But after all this, it's the only part of me that's managed to survive."

Megatron pulled his servo away and watched as Ratchet wobbled to the berth. He flopped down and then patted beside him.

The warbuild vented; it wasn't something he wanted to do but he gingerly sat at the edge of the berth.

"You're supposed to talk next," Ratchet stated once he sat.

"What am I to say," Megatron growled out, "I am indebted to you."

"Yeah, I bet you hate that," Ratchet leaned forward and Megatron was so worried he'd topple off the berth he slammed a claw into his helm and pushed back.

Once the medic _whumped_ to the berth, Megatron did his best to keep his temper but couldn't help but growl out, "You're starting to irk me."

"Starting," Ratchet made a noise, "Millions of years and I'm only just starting."

"Why don't you find somewhere else to recharge then?"

"Because I'll be worried all night about you."

Megatron furrowed his ridges and finally looked over his spiked shoulderplating at the medic.

"I saw the wounds, Megatron," Ratchet locked optics, "I'm a medical unit. You think I didn't see that sort of thing before the war? Gladiators purposefully throwing fights and getting into places they shouldn't. Orion told me all about it and it kept me up then as it does now. I'd throw parties as a cover to sneak into Kaon."

"I know, that's how we met."

Ratchet looked up at the ceiling, "I still don't like you."

Megatron rolled his optics, "That feeling isn't without company."

There was a moment of silence that Megatron dared to hope the medic succumbed to his recharge cycle.

"Will you tell me why you were so close to Cybertron?"

Megatron turned away, "No."

"Rude," Ratchet shifted in the berth, making it creak.

Megatron vented and leaned back, finding a place in the berth beside the medic. He fit awkwardly in the berth but surprisingly enough Ratchet gave no protest. Rather, the medic turned on his side to make room for the hulking mass.

"I need to know where your behaviors come from if you're going to heal," Ratchet told him.

"I don't want to heal," Megatron pointed out.

"Why not?"

Megatron turned his helm to the delirious medic, "There is no reason to heal."

With Megatron's pedes dangling over the edge, they were optic to optic on the berth. It brought back a sense of déjà vu and comfort he wasn't too sure he wanted. "How did Optimus ever get you to rest?"

Ratchet laughed, a low tone that came from some unlocked place under his chest plating, "Lots of nice ways. I always knew he wanted me to recharge when he'd touch my helm."

Megatron convinced himself if there was any way to make this troublesome rustbucket to berth, he'd do it. So, he extended his servo with digits outstretched, knowing Ratchet would pull away.

Instead, the medic rested his chevron in his palm, venting out a soft sigh and closing his optics. When Megatron thumbed the edge of his audial fin the medic's optics fluttered back online.

"This is frightening, but nice."

Megatron just made a noncommittal noise.

"You're allowed to miss Optimus," Ratchet stated, "It's allowed. I'm not going to get mad at you for saying that. I miss him too. And I saved you because of that."

"I know," Megatron patted his helm and said nothing further.

Since it was the only thing that seemed to calm the medic he continued to touch, turning the sharp ends of his claws away to knuckle the medic's chevron. Trailing them occasionally to his audial fins to rub between his digits, making sure paint didn't flake away.

This was Optimus' medic. The medic he took so much time and effort protecting. Never did he imagine the old war hardy bot falling into recharge with his gentle touches. He imagined Optimus flying away with him in his servos into the sunset after Megatron exiled himself from Cybertron. But Optimus sacrificed himself to save Megatron and their planet.

It was stupid to think Ratchet could forgive him. Once he was sure that the medic wouldn't wake, Megatron left him to his berth to return to the datapad and the couch.


	7. Chapter 7

Ratchet woke up from his recharge as usual with a power saving recap pinging his neural net and a growing need for more energon. There was a warmth to his systems as well, but nothing outside the ordinary. He probably forgot to turn on the central cooling again.

Yet, there was a more uncomfortable situation pressing him to wake up quickly, something was tickling him, right at the small of his backstruts and it was starting to be uncomfortable. Ratchet stretched before his optics finally flickered online.

His cabling tensed. He couldn't help it. Millions of years of habit couldn't be fixed in a few days.

Megatron had one servo tucked underneath his helm and a pillow, cradling the medic in the crook of his servo. The other was flung over him, the clawtips brushing gently on the sensitive part of his plating between his aft and his medical storage.

He unintentionally moved forward, away from the servo, as if arching his back would do anything but draw him closer to the warlord.

Ratchet finally accessed the powersave file from the night before. It was quite common in a medic's systems to switch memory function to preserve power. It just meant recall was temporarily postponed and backed up to review once his systems got enough rest and energon to make room for high-energy medical function. There wasn't anything too noteworthy until his confession that he couldn't sleep with Megatron in the room. It went downhill from there.

Ratchet always hated how honest he got when his functions slowly ticked off one by one, but it seemed Megatron was far more honest. He surfaced from the simulation feeling no better than when he went in.

So Megatron did want to die. Ratchet had mixed feelings about that. He wanted to rage, to wake up the slumbering monster and holler at him until he spoke his mind. How _dare_ he when Optimus was willing to sacrifice himself for _him._

But that was selfish thinking. Ratchet fidgeted, drawing closer to the warm spark of the warlord. There were countless times Optimus sacrificed his own personal safety and life for the spark of others. Megatron wasn't special yet he was to Optimus. Ratchet knew that the two of them shared a place in the late Prime's spark. Ratchet was coddled, people wanted him to live on. Megatron didn't have that luxury.

The monstrous figure tightened his grasp, pulling Ratchet into a vice-like grip that by any other servo would be a hug. Ratchet braced his servos against the broad expanse of the Decepticon's chest, just in case he would need to push away.

But it was just that, a tightening embrace and then the rebooting of a slumbering beast.

"How long have you been awake?"

This close to Megatron's chest, he could hear the words rumble and reverberate through him. It brought back a familiar feeling.

"Not that long," Ratchet spoke before setting his faceplate into a neutral way and looking up at Megatron. As if he was unaffected by any of this.

Megatron's harsh red gaze looked down on him. Knowing the events of last night, Ratchet would almost call it critical. Anything less and it wouldn't be Megatron.

"Are you aware of the events of last night?"

"Yes," Ratchet felt he did enough apologizing the night before until the end of time so he left it at that.

"Hmph," Megatron's optics narrowed coldly, "I highly doubt it. Do you recall marching into your living room and throwing a fit when I wouldn't let you walk out the window, which you insisted was a door."

Ratchet's optics widened and this time he did push up to see his grey companion's faceplate clearly, "What?"

"You called me a sorry excuse for an Autobot."

"Well, that's true," Ratchet settled back into a more comfortable position.

 _Comfortable?_

Ratchet turned his servos to push against Megatron, "I need energon."

Megatron let up him easily enough and Ratchet swallowed the strange emotion that bubbled up with that.

"Do you want any?"

He didn't need an answer so he didn't listen for one. Would it be better to discuss it or just leave it alone? Ratchet played back the words Megatron so carelessly let fall last night as he walked to the refrigeration unit and opened it.

Megatron didn't choose to be revived after the end of the war, merely told the devil yes. Ratchet mused as he looked at the neatly stacked energon cubes in his fridge, if it meant reviving Optimus how far would he go? It would be just as selfish as Megatron's resurrection, if not even more so. But Megatron still didn't tell him why he was so close to Cybertron.

 _How am I going to get him out of here?_ The sad revelation continued. He couldn't keep Megatron here forever, how long would it take before they drove each other mad? Ratchet's self-assurance that he did it for Optimus would only last so long. Optimus would want him alive, yes, but Ratchet secretly hoped that Megatron could call some old lieutenant and skip out of town leaving him alone again.

A claw startled Ratchet and he stumbled back into Megatron's peds. The warbuild reached over top of Ratchet and pulled out two cubes before closing his other claw over Ratchet's on the door.

"Energy is not meant to be wasted, Ratchet," Megatron's voice rumbled out next to his audial fin.

"True, you've wasted plenty for the lot of us," Ratchet knew his snappy comebacks were a progression of fear, but it didn't help that deep down he enjoyed it. It was petty, yes, but Megatron was used to rolling words right off his backstruts.

Megatron shrugged and released his servo, "Why waste more?"

He handed over the second cube before returning to his perch on the couch. Ratchet did have to note that Megatron moved visibly slower from old times. Once, he would have described the warbuild's frame as unnaturally agile. He stalked through the battlefield and vaulted over obstacles like a voracious predacon consuming everything in his path. Now, Megatron lumbered around like an old spark.

"Are you feeling alright?" The words popped out of Ratchet mouth unintentionally, "Do you feel any pain?"

"No," Megatron didn't meet his optics, coldly blinking away the concern.

Ratchet took a sip from his energon to fill the silence. His systems demanded more but he didn't want to look as energy deprived as Megatron knew him to be.

"You walk differently."

Megatron vented out a sigh but didn't respond.

"I'm just concerned," Ratchet didn't hide the irritation burning the edge of his tone. He walked away from the shield of his kitchen island, taking his energon with him.

"There is no need to be."

Ratchet took a heartier gulp from his cube before turning to set it on the opposite end of the counter, "Yes there is, Megatron. You confessed to me you wanted to end yourself."

Megatron looked unaffected.

"What am I supposed to do? Kidnap a psychiatrist and have them see you?"

Megatron raised up and Ratchet defiantly stood his ground, determined not to raise his servos engaged in weaponry.

"You need to be more worried about yourself," he leaned down and threatened.

Ratchet didn't mean to raise up on his tiptoes and match the warlord. He didn't mean to snap out, "You've taken away everything I worried about."

Without warning, Megatron lifted Ratchet and threw him onto the couch.

Ratchet scrambled at the servo akin to a pylon which now clawed his chestplating. His kicking peds were easily pinned by the warlord's own, his own couch now serving as his prison.

Megatron drew away one of the medic's servos with an easy strength and calm, "You can fight me because I am not a patient."

Ratchet railed against the claw scraping at his wrist, focusing entirely on that. He hadn't meant to rile Megatron up to the point where he would be taught a lesson. The medic knew better than this; it was like kicking a scraplet nest.

"Did you hear me?"

Ratchet snapped his helm to look up at Megatron who gingerly sat down on him, further stapling him to the soft cushions. Megatron looked cold, his red optics looking down on him and his brows furrowed with resentment.

"Yes," the Autobot stated breathily.

"Would you be able to fight me if I was not a patient?" Megatron looked down at him with such burning anger that Ratchet froze, "Answer me."

"Yes."

"What kind of a fool do you think I am," Megatron sneered, and Ratchet felt clawtips scrape against his doorframe. "I know what happened between you and Starscream. You should have let him bleed. Instead, he returned to me, miraculously patched after another one of our _indifferences_."

Ratchet vented out, practically shouting now, "I fixed Starscream for the benefit of information. What intelligence he had was wasted on you."

"You never struck him," Megatron shot back, "You worried about him and he never once felt grateful for your treatment. Optimus wanted to protect you from what he thought I'd do but you're worse to yourself."

Ratchet was slowly cooling his throbbing, shocked spark, "That was the war, none of my patients now have his capacity for treachery."

"You take the one's no one else will. What happens when a Decepticon wakes up and believes himself still in the war? You're the famed Autobot medic. How do they know the difference between you putting them back together versus tearing them apart?"

Ratchet's faceplate flickered and it was the first time Megatron saw any vestige of such powerful emotion on his face. The doctor always had a careful and cool composure in the face of interrogation and threat. It was only one lingering moment, but Megatron felt his spark twist with pain. He bared his denta as if Ratchet wounded him. The medic turned his helm away, no longer struggling up against Megatron's heavy grip.

If Ratchet slashed at him it would hurt less than the feeling that now permeated through Megatron's spark. But there was no chance for recalling his actions or those words. He'd said his piece.

"Who will help them if I don't?" Ratchet replied softly, still not meeting the warbuild's scornful glare, "Let me up please, Megatron."

Megatron released his servo before letting up on his chestplating. Ratchet sat up and rubbed his scraped joint and waited patiently for Megatron to shuffle up, releasing him. This taste of fear remained new yet familiar and Ratchet wasn't too keen on how it cut through his systems.

"I do not expect anything from my patients except survival," Ratchet said quietly, returning peds to the floor.

Megatron glared as Ratchet did his best to deadpan as he continued, "That includes yours, Megatron. I will do my best to give you an exit from Cybertron but I must first be assured you will not make an attempt on your life again."

"Some wounds are not meant to heal, doctor," Megatron echoed a sentiment from the night before.

"Granted," Ratchet stood, gathering up his lonely cube and clutching it, "But those would can be improved upon or filled. I do not claim to be perfect or aware of all my flaws however," the medic sighed, "I like patients to leave my operating table improved."

Megatron glinted in the light of Cybertron, "You can't improve me, Ratchet."


	8. Chapter 8

Ratchet didn't return for days.

At first, Megatron convinced himself it was good thing. The apartment remained well stocked with amenities. The presence of the medic was not something he needed or wanted. Let the damn fool work himself into stasis.

A few days into his solitary, yet cushioned lifestyle, there came a knock on the door. With no answer, whomever the bot was left within a few cycles but it didn't stop the seed of worry which began to fester and sprout within Megatron's spark. Ratchet could avoid Megatron, but it wasn't like the Autobot medic to neglect a patient.

It was after that encounter that he began researching ways to make up with the medic. Most on the network were romantic suggestions and he didn't want his meaning to be skewed. But it was within his knowledge to make something for the medic. It could be something he could say he wanted.

Back in his gladiator days, making high-grade is what made you 'friends'. Some would make it out of oil but the best and easiest distilling processes were for energon. All you needed was two sheets of metal and heat.

Ratchet's kitchenware looked unused but stocked rather well. Obviously not the medic's choice. Megatron easily felt content to wreck anything he needed to create the concoction.

The first day after the patient knocked on Ratchet's door, Megatron created the still. It wasn't a laborious task, yet he found himself getting distracted often.

The second day, he ran the energon through the first still. He listened to it roil as he watched the city lights. He didn't dare turn lights on at night, better to not alert anyone of his presence. He calmly turned over his options in the white noise of the still and the glow of the city.

The third, he stilled again, lying to himself that it would improve the flavor and it wasn't just to keep busy.

On the fourth day, he left a mess waiting for Ratchet after extracting the distilled energon. Megatron entertained the fantasy that when Ratchet returned he would be irate about the procedure.

The fifth day yielded a slightly red iridescent liquid which was strained several times before Megatron poured it back into an energon cube. He cleaned up his project and waited patiently.

On the fifth night Megatron awoke to a loud clatter. A voice outside of the apartment yelled out, "I'm sorry. I must have forgotten my code in all this mess."

Megatron scrambled up and leaned towards the berthroom before reconsidering and taking up his usual hiding place in the closet. He winced as a dull metal _thunk_ sounded out in his rush to not be seen. He could only hope whomever was with the medic wouldn't mind.

There were the pedfalls of two Autobots and Megatron would give anything to bear witness to what was happening behind that door.

"Let's head to your berthroom."

"No, no I'll be fine on the couch," Ratchet griped.

"Ratchet," Whoever this bot was, it wasn't First Aid. From the crystalline voice, it sounded like a two-wheeler, "Ratchet, no."

Megatron couldn't help his curiosity, but to step out into the room would probably do more harm than good. Instead he was forced to hide in a wheel closet. This kind of predicament was far beyond anything Megatron imagined he would find himself in. Hiding out in a domestic setting like he was the medic's secret intrigue. Any panicked mirth at the thought laminated itself to his spark. When he tracked into Cybertronian space he'd hoped for death and not this farce of survival. Megatron couldn't make an all call without exposing himself to anyone with a Decepticon frequency decoder. And what, he'd call a loyal subject for a ride home?

"Hey Ratchet?"

The voice startled Megatron, the bot went unheard until they spoke out in the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"What's this stuff on the counter?"

An extended pause and pedsteps signaled Ratchet's return from the berthroom to the main rooms. He responded almost too soft for Megatron to hear, "That's high-grade."

"Oh, you know how to make high-grade?"

"I suppose I do."

After a brief silence, the bot chirped, "Well, I'm going to leave. Stop seeing so many patients."

Ratchet laughed and passed off the comment with an insincere promise and a farewell. The outside door closed. He heard another shuffle as Ratchet came over and opened his hiding space door.

They stood in silence, Megatron framed by the door looking down and Ratchet looking up at him.

"You made high-grade?"

Megatron folded his servos, "I did."

Ratchet vented and turned around to return to the kitchen, "Did you energize properly while I was gone?"

"No, I just drank myself into a stupor." Megatron shuffled from the closet.

Questions burned Megatron's processor but he remained silent. He calculated any misstep and Ratchet would leave again rather than stay with his hated patient.

"Did you make it for me?"

Megatron snapped up to look at Ratchet. He responded cautiously, "For the both of us."

"I'm surprised you remembered how," Ratchet admitted, he lifted the cube up to the light to admire its hue.

After being gone so long, the sight of the medic bracing himself against the counter with red light filtering down through the high-grade seemed nostalgic. A strange tightness seized Megatron's spark but he ignored it.

"I remember a lot of things from before the war," Megatron told him. But Ratchet already knew that. They both had wounds which managed to last far beyond the char and wreckage of war.

"Let's save it for when we find a way out for you," Ratchet said, tucking the high grade away.

Megatron wanted to protest. He wanted to tell the medic that he didn't make it for a special occasion but rather to apologize, something he wasn't accustomed to. But it wasn't as if Ratchet would take the metaphorical peace offering as something grand, so Megatron refrained.

Megatron shifted, "I haven't been feeling well."

"Oh," Ratchet's optics widened and his brows shot up, "Well hop up on the berth and I'll take a look."

Megatron tracked into the living room and took his place on the medical berth.

"What seems to be the problem?" He asked, pulling a rolling seat from beneath the berth, "You don't need to lie down for the scan."

"Tightness in my chestplating and restlessness," Megatron shifted upright and looked down at the medic.

"It sounds as if your mental condition is effecting your physical one." Ratchet's arm unit beeped as the scan passed over the warbuild, "What did you do while I was gone?"

"Waited for your return."

Ratchet vented and leaned back, studying the scanner results. There was nothing physically wrong with Megatron although he should open him up and give a once over to his healed systems. He looked back up to the warlord, who was now gazing out into the city.

It was a beautiful view. That was one part of the provided quarters even Ratchet could enjoy. Megatron looked at the outside world with a twisted expression. It reminded the medic that Megatron could never truly enjoy this world.

"Thank you for the high grade," Ratchet began, turning over his servos before looking up into Megatron's optics, "I know that our differences and personal history make it difficult for the both of us. I know you didn't ask to be rescued. I thought about it a lot."

Megatron didn't know how to respond. He couldn't deny it and anything he could say would come out harsh.

"You know, actually. I think I will have some high-grade now," Ratchet said flatly, "You want some?"

Megatron veiled his surprise and merely shrugged, "If you'd like."

"I don't even know what I can put them in," Ratchet began as he walked to the kitchen.

"You have some decorative ware," Megatron gestured, "In the cabinet above the refrigeration unit. Don't you know your own things?"

Ratchet shrugged, an action Megatron noted from watching him so carefully from the living room, "They don't feel like mine."

Megatron couldn't argue with that. Ratchet brought over glasses and high grade, "Are you going to drink it on the medical berth?"

Megatron stood and took the proffered glass and reached a servo out for the high grade which Ratchet graciously surrendered.

The liquid sloshed out a little too quickly into his cup and made Megatron wonder if the medic was wary of being social with him. For Megatron, sitting in silence drinking was just as viable an option as making awkward small talk could ever be. Megatron respectfully filled his glass only halfway.

"I'm not sure how strong it is, I've never-"

But it was too late, Ratchet emptied the vessel into his intake like a shot, gulping down the liquid.

"-tested its strength," Megatron finished.

"Never met a batch I didn't like."

Megatron wanted to admire his own handiwork so he sniffed at the glass in his servo before setting the container of high grade on the medical berth, with no other surface in the room that's where it would stay.

"Seems a little strong," Megatron frowned before taking a sip and grimacing, "It is strong."

Ratchet shrugged, "What did you make it with? If it's energon you have to let it mellow out."

"Or what?" Megatron hated to ask.

Ratchet threw up his servos in a very 'I don't know' motion and raised his servos.

Megatron sipped experimentally and realized it was more than just strong, but it wasn't anything either of them couldn't handle.

"Did you just make high grade?"

Megatron swallowed his mouthful of energon, "Yes. The rest of my time went to research."

"Did you figure anything out?"

Megatron didn't like the tone Ratchet used to say that, but he took a drink from his glass, "It was very illuminating."

Ratchet rolled his optics and paced down. Megatron hid a smile behind his cup, trying not to let the Autobot catch his stare.

There was nothing but the pedsteps of Ratchet nervously turning laps in his apartment, "And what brings you back to me, Ratchet?"

Ratchet's optics flickered up to him. Finally, he returned to his unreadable, professional expression, "There was an incident at the hospital."

"What kind of incident?" Megatron couldn't help but think he was being evasive, dramatically so even. Years of working with his second in command made him question ambiguity.

Ratchet vented and walked back to the high-grade cube, pouring himself another full glass.

"Careful," Megatron warned.

Ratchet met his optics fearlessly and took a solid gulp of the stuff. Megatron shook his helm, "There is no need to rebel so thoroughly against me. Nothing hangs in the balance but your own wit."

"Oh good, you'll finally have an advantage," Ratchet quipped back, taking a smaller drink from his glass.

"I am glad you returned, Ratchet."

Ratchet's optics telescoped and he side-eyed blank space with his usual harrumph. It was almost like he wanted to say something in his usual sardonic tone but refrained at Megatron's rarely kind word.

Megatron sipped in silence as Ratchet paced the floor yet again, taking long sips from his own glass.

"So, the whole thing is First Aid's fault."

"What is?"

"The patient flipping out. It's his fault."

"The incident?" Megatron recalled from earlier.

"Yes," Ratchet squared his arms to punctuate his story, "All he had to do was listen. To. Me. And could he do that one task? No. Primus forbid he actually drag his helm from his tailpipe to do his job instead of flirt with the interns."

Megatron hid a smile akin to amusement at the coming rage. He'd grown used to such noise and rampant insults from a certain lecherous mech at his side, but Ratchet's was brand new and not at him for once. It was _for_ him, because Megatron had seemingly been foolish enough to inquire. He wondered if just anyone would be privy to the drunken rant had they been there as well.

"A patient came in and _right there_ in his file" the doctor said, finger in his palm, "Was a specific instruction not to hook him up to a regulator because he had a field problem." Ratchet managed to speak clearly despite his fledgling intoxication. "What does First Aid do?"

Megatron raised an optic ridge, "Hooks him up to a regulator?"

"He hooks him up to a regulator," the medical unit echoed, making another round while Megatron watched, no longer keeping the bemused expression from his faceplate. "So of course, turns out he can emit violent magnetic pulses and he thinks he's under attack by four Autobot medics. But to him they aren't medics. Medicon."

Ratchet angrily turned to him, " _Meditron_ just sits there and doesn't know what to do and I'm left to fight this titanic son of a glitch _alone_."

Megatron chuckled.

"This doesn't mean you're right," Ratchet countered, growing insecure as the high-grade fuzzed his otherwise capable functions, "He isn't my patient."

Megatron looked over his glass to see the Autobot had interrupted himself with another long draught from his own. Ratchet looked positive and happy as he ambled back over to the berth to pour himself another cup.

Megatron closed his claws over top of the glass before Ratchet could swallow its contents whole. He almost told the medic to slow down, take it easy, but that would probably add fuel to the fire. Megatron instead held out his own glass for the medic to fill.

"Anyway," Ratchet rocked back a little. "He knocked out half the hospital with an EM pulse."

Megatron did his best to look grave, as if the story made sense, "Did he harm you?"

"No, I never disengage my RF generator," Ratchet shrugged, "No sense in scaring people."

Megatron couldn't question the decision. It was his own command to use the Autobots' emotions against them. With the help of the strong high-grade and the knowledge that Ratchet was further gone than he, Megatron let his inner thoughts to crawl out, "Where did you think you'd be when the war ended?"

"Dead," Ratchet said without missing a beat, "Offlining was the ideal outcome."

Megatron laughed, "How hypocritical of you, doctor."

Ratchet turned those energon-blue optics his way, "Tell me then. What would you have done with me if I survived?"

Megatron couldn't say the multitude of plans he had for the medic if the war was won and the Autobots surrendered. It was far too shameful now. "I would utilize your skills same as the council."

Ratchet made another disbelieving noise and returned to his pacing up and down the floor. Megatron wondered if he could hide the high grade so Ratchet would not worsen his condition. Still, it didn't hurt to retire the liquid. Rather than draw attention by a jaunt to the kitchen, Megatron slide the cube closed and tucked it under the medical berth.

"Granted, I wouldn't give you such luxurious quarters, unless they were my own." Normally, Megatron guarded his tongue. But he'd been in Ratchet's drunk company before and he was a high energy. Distracting him with such a comment would be sure to veil the missing high-grade. Plus, when the Autobot lost his buzz he didn't care much to bring up what was said and done.

When Ratchet made no mention or response Megatron looked for one. Silence from the medic was never a good omen. He stared at the lights of Cybertron glittering out in the world.

"When this all began, I'd thought it'd be you and Orion."

This was new. Megatron set his glass on the medical berth, as if it was a distraction from what the medic said.

"How irregular." Megatron had his own indecencies he wanted to spew but he'd wait until the medic had his piece.

Ratchet turned to the ex-warlord, "You and Orion had a true friendship. Ours was based on impedance."

"Remind me again of what that is," Megatron hadn't heard the phrase in millions of years.

"Our sparks had the same energy, same amount," Ratchet gestured to the world, "I don't think you realize how rare that is, to have total impedance with another Cybertronian. To not be afraid of hurting them when you're charged."

Megatron was far too old to find fascination with Ratchet's sudden divulgence of he and Optimus' relationship. Of course, in his gladiator days he suspected that Orion and Ratchet maintained the "friends with benefits" kind of relationship. Orion did sleep with at least Alpha Trion and Megatron, so he didn't put it past the young librarian to be shacking up with Ratchet as well. "So, what does that mean?"

Ratchet vented out a sigh, "Optimus usually had to be on the bottom in his relationships prior."

"I recall."

Ratchet shot him a glare, "I was much the same, until Orion. He and I had a friendship that knew no measure after that. But I always felt it had no real substance. But he didn't talk to anyone like he did me. Until a gladiator named Megatronus came along."

It was odd hearing Ratchet talk about him like he wasn't there. But he was out of highgrade, so the medic ambled over for more. Not wanting to deny him as he divulged the unknown, Megatron handed his own glass over and watched the Autobot take a drink. Without the social lubricant, he might stop.

Ratchet began to walk away, but Megatron caught his servo, "Please continue."

He looked irritated but didn't pull away, "I came to Kaon with Orion because of his interest in you. You were his mentor, his _everything_. When they made them Prime I was sure you'd be right with him during that. He was having such a hard time and I told him, I lied to him 'don't worry, Megatron will help you through this'. I was sure that he would be the kind, gentle figurehead for Cybertron and you would be the true heart of policy. I thought that it was over. He just wanted your guidance and you called him your enemy. And the war began."

"Tell me more about you and Orion," Megatron was being too demanding.

Ratchet changed the subject, "C'mere for a second I wanna show you something."

Megatron didn't mind the subject switch much. If it was somewhat easy the first time, he'd try again if the next opportunity presented itself. He followed the medic without a word to the berthroom.

"If you wanna know why I don't use some of the luxuries I have, I'll show you."

Megatron didn't point out to the intoxicated medic that he could just tell him about whatever it was he wished to show him.

Ratchet went from the berthroom to the washroom and Megatron raised an optic ridge but followed him again. He didn't offer assistance as Ratchet slid into the wide tube and Megatron realized exactly why in short time.

Ratchet fit fully into the wide basin. Only his optics peeked out angrily above the rim, "This apartment wasn't made for me. It was a cast off for some official. They gave it to me to shut me up or something. I'll need some help getting out, by the way."

Megatron reached a single servo down and lifted Ratchet up and out of the tub basin by his servo. He ignored Ratchet's desperate clutch at his digits as he set him gingerly down. The medic swayed ever so slightly and Megatron wondered if he would fall completely.

"Optimus missed you a lot. I never thought he would be content with just me. I know it was my own insecurity, but he was always taken with you," Ratchet spoke in a lonely tone to the floor.

Something clawed at Megatron's spark and he roughly grabbed Ratchet's chin and wrenched it up, glaring into his clear blue optics, "I pursued you because I knew you were Optimus' precious medic. I loathed his lapdog as voraciously as I did the Prime. It would hit his spark the worst for me to have you. If you still harbor a grudge over my perceived theft of Pax, why did you save me?"

Ratchet jerked away and walked to the door, "It's what Optimus would have wanted."

"What did _you_ want, Ratchet?" Megatron asked, following him into the other room.

Ratchet vented and flopped onto the berth, rubbing his optics with his servos, "I don't know what I wanted."

"Did you want me offline?"

"No," Ratchet vented out, "It's going to sound dumb, Megatron. I'm going to sound utterly ridiculous in front of some mech who could kill me should I sound so stupid in front of him."

On a whim Megatron sat next to him on the berth and Ratchet peeked out from behind his servos, "Come closer."

Megatron rolled his optics before leaning in close to Ratchet.

"Don't judge me," Ratchet whispered loudly, "But I thought…given everything that's happened maybe a little bit of Optimus managed to survive in you. You had that change of spark. …I thought maybe if you survived a little bit of him would too."

Megatron felt his spark swirl with a great deal of emotion. He wasn't anything like Optimus, but he understood what Ratchet spoke of.

"I think a little bit of Optimus lives in you as well, Ratchet." Megatron said gently, allowing himself to blame the small amount of high grade for his actions. Megatron reached out a clawed servo to stroke the side of Ratchet faceplate.

The medic blinked but only tensed at the touch, not pulling away. After a few gentle strokes, Megatron took Ratchet's chin in his digits, this time a little softer. He pulled the medic closer pushing his own faceplate daringly close. He could feel the medic's heated breath but he stopped short. He studied the medic, as if trying to find some answer etched on his faceplate.

Ratchet closed the distance between them, pushing his helm up to connect their lips. Megatron saw sparks fly as he pressed feverishly on the medic. His spark fluxed at the idea that Ratchet would soon push him away but he was eager to experience him.


	9. Chapter 9

This chapter is short because it's been heavily edited. Again, if you prefer to have a 'hotter' version of this chapter it is on AO3 with the same name.

* * *

Megatron's servos wandered the smaller frame, digging his claws to draw out muffled venting from the writhing creature below him. Ratchet opened his mouth and clung lightly to the larger mech, his digits curling against Megatron's metal. Their glossas slid against each other and Megatron hoped he wasn't trapping him in his haste.

Megatron stopped the kiss, pulling away and venting out. He didn't deserve this. He was sullying the Autobot's trust and professionalism. In the least he stood on Optimus'memory. The Prime did not allow him to live so he could spike his medic. Primus, Ratchet didn't bring him from the well of allsparks for a tryst. What was the Autobot feeling right now? Asking him to drop his RF shielding would be a level of intimacy he wasn't sure he was ready for. What if Ratchet was kissing him in fear of what else he would do?

The medic didn't let him speak, merely closed his optics and desperately kissed the ex-warlord again. Megatron pushed him away, flattening him down with a single servo, "Why are you doing this?"

Ratchet vented out and wriggled, "Do you get a kick out of pinning bots to the berth or is it just my privilege?"

Megatron frowned and leaned forward to kiss him again to subdue his sardonicism, clinging to his helm to hold to him close as he dominated his mouth. Ratchet's glossa protested the movement and he curled both servos as best he could to embrace him. Megatron braced himself so he wouldn't put his full weight on the smaller bot.

Ratchet became limp, servos suddenly passive on the warframe.

Worried, Megatron pulled away to find that Ratchet's optics were offline.

"Ratchet?"

The damned medic had fallen into recharge, probably drained from his five or so days constantly working. Megatron stroked his helm, alarmed at the feeling of being without his dialogue, his awakened presence.

No, that wasn't right. Not that Megatron hadn't once entertained the thought, but not like this. Not as two broken old bots coping with their loss with each other.

Megatron pulled away from the medic, pulling out the sheets from beneath him before tucking him in.

He distanced himself from the sleeping medic, choosing instead to ease his slight charge in the tub. He was privy to gruesome luxuries, and the medic's underused basin was surely hundreds up steps up from that.

The lull of the ripples overcame the static in his audials as Megatron looked over what he'd done. It wasn't as if things progressed too far; Ratchet had kissed a lot of people before the war. He appeared to like kissing as much as fixing things, both activities in which he lacked restraint.

But there was still that uncomfortable charge that sat at the base of his frame. Megatron shouldn't have ever once entertained the notion of being with Ratchet, defiling him like he seemingly yearned to.

He curled his digits over his faceplate and closed his optics as he knelt on the floor. After a moment of reflection, he smoothed over his inner turmoil to step out to the berthroom. Megatron steeled himself and stared down at the peaceful figure resting below him.

Ratchet would never touch him; he would never look at him the same way he looked at Orion or Optimus. He would never cuddle up to Megatron's side or clutch at him in need. Megatron was the fallen leader of the Decepticon cause and Ratchet was doing his best to save all of Cybertron from his living room.

He shook off his hesitation and slipped into the berth, raising the sheets to burrow against Ratchet's back.

"Megatron?"

The motion woke the Autobot and Megatron prepared for the worst as he turned and face him, "Where were you?"

Megatron didn't stop Ratchet from curling up into his chestplate. He hesitantly placed a servo on his shoulderplating, "I took a bath."

"Mmm," his optics flickered back offline as he pressed into Megatron's chest.

It wasn't an embrace. Ratchet tucked his servos in and made himself as small as possible against him. But he didn't shove away Megatron's servos and didn't mind Megatron's peds tucking under his own.

Ratchet vented out a contented sigh, sounding so unlike the other frustrated noises he could make. Once again Megatron felt that painful tightness in his spark. He was touching him with the same digits that were wrapped around his spike only moments before.

No matter how guilty Megatron told himself he should be, he never really changed deep down. He knew he enjoyed the thought of being here. He gently stroked the others helm before drifting into his own recharge.


	10. Chapter 10

Megatron slipped awake in the early hours of the morning. He was a light sleeper so the noise of Ratchet's systems powering online always stirred him from even locked recharge. But he wished it wasn't. He wanted to wonder how long the medic had remained in his servos after his systems came back online. There was some selfish part of him that wanted to marvel at the smaller Autobot lost in thought in his clutches.

This time, he said nothing and merely slipped out from beneath the medic and away from the berth. He didn't want Ratchet to jump out of the berth like he did last time. It would be better just to let the medic get some rest.

However, there wasn't much to distract himself with. He could read, but at this point he'd read everything this new Cybertron had to offer. Reading would do nothing for his current mix of emotions. As worthless as they were, they were nice compared to the fire of war and anger he was used to.

Megatron stood in the window, looking over the waking of the world. In that fringe of the morning, as light ebbed into every dark corner, he knew he still had something to give. It was violently frustrating to know that despite his mark in the world, it continued. Although Ratchet was correct: keeping things as they are would only bring trouble. Living here revived the burn in his core to help Cybertron overcome its suffering a second time.

As the last vestiges of night faded away, Megatron turned from the scenery back to his custodial. A flash of red drew his gaze, the hidden cube of high grade reminding him of the events from the night before. He hastened to retrieve it from its place. There was a lag in his wonder if it would be better to hide it from the medic, keep the events of last night from repeating. Then again, there was only really one aspect of last night's rather cozy events he wished to undo.

The outer door opened.

For a flicker, his processor believed it was Ratchet, returning from his day at work but as it closed behind the intruder, he fit the piece into place. There was nowhere near to hide.

The intruder was small which remained a reassuring factor. She had a visor and a terrible ostentatious shade of tinted red that burned the optic. Decals ran along her like art she was a grounder with Knockout's gaudy tastes.

"Hello."

The first thing Megatron could tell is they had a high timber voice and an unsettling way about them. In fact, it was as if his metal carried a charge from her presence. It put him on edge as much as her sudden entrance. She carried herself well enough- wasn't skulking around like an intruder.

"How did you get in?" Megatron curled the servo where his cannon heated. Firing the weapon indoors would only announce his presence. He shut down the building charge; he'd have to get close for hand-to-hand combat should it come to blows.

"I know the code," the visor made it so difficult to read her expression, "What's with the high grade?"

Megatron looked down at the cube in his servo, "We drank."

"I see." She tracked forward more than Megatron realized, focused on how to react. She gently lifted the high grade out of his servos, inspecting it much like Ratchet did, "How did you get it?"

"I concocted it," Megatron watched as she moved so fluidly around him. She wasn't afraid of him which made him just as wary of her as a normal bot should of him. He flinched as she turned back to him and gestured to the couch.

"Why don't you have a seat?"

Megatron's processor raced. Leaving would do nothing. Was this a police unit? If so, how did she know Ratchet's code? Was she about to detain him and spend the next day reading him his list of crimes?

Once Megatron settled down she spoke again, "Ratchet gave me the code, you don't have to worry."

Part of him assured him it must be true but it was a betrayal of his own thoughts. She moved forward as if to sit beside him and in a rather childish way, he spread his pedes to deny it. Again, that visor didn't betray her emotion as she sat on his ped, straddling it and facing him.

"You're a warbuild then?"

"That's impolite," Megatron growled out. With her this close, a faint buzzing rang through his audials. So focused on exactly _what_ she emitted he didn't bother pushing her away.

"Are you interfacing with Ratchet?"

Megatron bared his teeth defensively and grabbed around her waist. His digits touched each other and she wrapped her own digits around an arm spike and spoke soft again, "It's just a question."

The buzzing was too loud now. His servos felt glued to her svelte waist. He finally managed to spit out, "We aren't."

"Oh, you're a patient?"

"Yes."

The buzzing faded immediately and began to pull away. Megatron would not let her get away so easily. He pulled her back with his servos on her waist hunching over and meeting her optic to visor, "Why are you here?"

"For service," she said coquettishly, turning her helm up to him.

"What kind of service?"

Visor kept his stare and a smile played at their lips. She didn't have an em field, or they had it jammed, and offered no reassurance. The Autobot did look new, he couldn't quite figure out if she was intelligence or speed model. She didn't have a scratch on her; no dings or marks or misplaced paint. She was far more maintained than Knockout ever was with the best materials. But she looked small, and fragile. What made matter's worse is that he seemed transfixed by that bright blue visor. It looked unreal. As if she was replaying a memory, the Autobot placed one claw around her helm, clutching it close to her. Megatron rose defensively, reminded of Ratchet.

"What kind of service do you think?"

He couldn't tell if she whispered it or if it was a private communication but for a lingering moment all he could think about was his claw on the small of her back and how he could crush her helm in his other servo.

" _Hey_."

Ratchet's incredulous warning made Megatron flinch and tear away the servo from her back. But Ratchet didn't seem to care one bit about where Megatron's servos were on his patient. As the bot slunk off Megatron, he lectured, "Don't do that to him, he's far too old to be messing about. What if you were injured?"

"You'd fix me up, wouldn't you doctor?"

"Don't push your luck," Ratchet liked her just fine then. He turned to Megatron, "Disengage and reengage your EM field jammer."

Megatron did as he said wondering why the sudden command.

"You," Ratchet pointed to the medical berth and addressed the newcomer, "On the table we have something to talk about."

"Your high grade," the ostentatious bot spoke mockingly innocent as she offered the cube.

Ratchet turned to Megatron, handing off the liquid, "Megatron I'd like you to meet Electraceae. I am hoping she can arrange to get you off planet."

"This is Megatron," Electraceae seemed incredulous, "I thought he'd be bigger."

She reached out to shake his servo, but Ratchet batted her away, "Don't play games. He's not the patient type."

Ratchet gave no explanation, merely shooed him away to the kitchen to return the high grade. Megatron observed from the corner of his optic as Ratchet lifted her helm.

"How do you feel, any headaches?"

"No."

Megatron knew why he didn't like the way she leaned into the medic's touch but he would never admit it, even to himself.

"What about your vision?"

"It's fine, Ratchet. I'm in your capable servos."

"Cut out the slag," Ratchet warned her.

He talked very familiar with the younger bot. She was so unlike First Aid, Ratchet didn't shy away from her touch or seemed to mind much when she slung her servos around him.

"My vision is clear right now."

Megatron wasn't going to be separated from her and the medic no matter how much she creeped him out.

"Okay, then let's begin."

Electraceae looked to Megatron and tilted her helm close to Ratchet, whispering out something.

"I assure you, Electraceae, if he were to reveal himself to spill your secrets you'd have nothing to worry about," Ratchet assured her, removing her limbs from him gently, "Now, please."

She tilted her helm and Ratchet made a strange swipe across her audial fin with a sharp click. Megatron watched in horror as the visor, part of her helm, and both audial fins gently lifted to reveal a much different bot. She had two optics, one blue and one a hazard yellow. The yellow had a deep scar ornamenting it much like her tattoos. To put it lightly; someone had attempted to blow her face off.

"It's a modification," Megatron had to marvel at Ratchet's work. It could only be his. The audial fins looked just like Optimus' with a little more winged flair to them now that he looked at it.

"Yes," the pink bot responded as Ratchet was far too involved in checking out the electronic, "It's a mod."

"Is that why earlier-?"

"No," Ratchet answered, "That was a glitch we haven't figured out yet."

"I could show you," the pink bot's appearance now looked far more unnerving than before, "If you want to."

"No," Ratchet stated, his voice warning and pleading all at once, "I have to live with him."

Megatron's frustration bled out at being kept in the dark, "I have my own right to decide Ratchet. What can you show me?"

Electraceae looked at Ratchet and was much easier to read without the visor on. She admired him in some way. Looked to him for a degree of guidance at least.

Ratchet threw up his servos, "Primus, don't do anything to get yourself killed. And I'm wiping my field."

"I won't," she seemed to be making a promise. Yet Megatron saw that mischievous smile from earlier.

Electraceae scooted a little closer to Megatron, "It'll be easier if you turn on your em field."

Megatron glanced to Ratchet but he'd turned his full attention to her helmpiece, choosing to ignore whatever this was.

Megatron eased out his em field from behind the jammer. The pink Autobot scooted closer and spoke gently, as if easing him through a procedure.

"So, I'm going to turn mine on and it's going to feel a bit funny. But when you recharge, it will give you what you wish for most. Understand?"

"How?"

"She doesn't know," Ratchet grumped, "No one does. It's a glitch at best."

"It's an ability," Megatron countered.

Electraceae beamed at the compliment and then shifted again, "Okay, now if you ground yourself or…." She glanced at Ratchet, "Just don't do anything with your em field until after you fall asleep okay?"

"You can't even engage your jammer," Ratchet spoke, this time meeting Megatron's optics. That meant he'd have to keep his field in very close.

Again, that buzzing, but it stopped just as quickly as it started, "You're done."

"And you're done too," Ratchet handed over the mod and Electraceae re-engaged it. Megatron had to wonder again how like the Optimus the audial fins were "Now we discussed payment this time."

"No problem. We'll use my event. I'll have to get some people involved. Holostrike will not be pleased, but she keeps her mouth shut," the femme jumped down from the berth. "I'll let you know the details as I get them."

"Keep me informed," Ratchet grimaced.

"Bye boys, have fun," She wriggled her digits as she left.

Ratchet vented the moment the door closed behind her and Megatron finally had the nerve to ask, "She does not know me?"

"No," Ratchet began packing up the tiny tools he'd been used to tune the complicated modification, "She's only just forged."

"What is her function?" With the grounder's absence, he could easily appreciate the thought of an impudent new spark hell raising in the streets of Cybertron.

Ratchet leaned back on his wheelbeds, "Words I'd never think to hear uttered by you, Megatron."

"I am curious."

"She's an escort. The council uses her to rein in Cybertronian trafficking. Her original function was- _is_ unknown but I surmise intelligence."

They sat in an awkward silence before Ratchet continued, "If she offers, please be gentle."

"What?" Megatron looked at Ratchet, surprised at the words.

Ratchet merely shrugged and turned away, not clarifying the subtext of his meaning.

"Have you achieved impedance with her?" With the output of that field she probably had ample energy despite her size. Then again, he could just be speculating.

Ratchet glared but didn't flare up or become flustered, "No. She's only just forged Megatron, as interested as I am in her frame it is purely scientific in nature."

But he was interested in her. Of course, Ratchet was allowed an interested in others. He would have a life on Cybertron. It was wrong to wish that Ratchet be as trapped in the past as he was.

"Speaking of which, I'd thought I'd look at your frame, please."

Megatron obediently sat down on the cleared medical berth and Ratchet set to work, flipping open his spark chamber. His chestplating swung out like doors and the medic studied the ebb of the spark.

"The dark energon in your core is gone."

"Of course, Optimus purged it from my system," Megatron worried that perhaps the medic had a corruption in his memory.

Ratchet rubbed his thumb digit, his look of worry not something Megatron thought he deserved. "I told you once when you regained consciousness, but when they found you, you had dark energon in your system."

"It seems some mistakes are not easily forgiven," Megatron meant to soothe but Ratchet only looked worried.

"Has it ever been able to just disappear like that?"

Megatron shook his helm, "My arrogance in tampering with dark energon is that it would find me worthy of it. I thought I was freed."

"Maybe it was just my imagination," Ratchet didn't sound convincing.

Megatron watched as Ratchet stared into his spark. He knew the medic's processor was busy with something else. But he hated the way the medic looked so haggard. Probably remembering something about Prime. He wanted to close his chestplating and bring him in closer, hugging him to his frame.

It wouldn't be a comfort.

"I do not think it will appear if you just glare,"

"Hmm," Ratchet snapped back from his reverie, "Yes. I have things I've been neglecting but I'll return tomorrow morning, I promise."

Megatron closed his spark chamber with a swift movement, watching as Ratchet moved to busy himself elsewhere, "I will wait here."

Again, Ratchet flashed him that worried expression. But it was their final words before he left Megatron alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Megatron snapped awake.

There was a sharp _rip_ as the berthsheets tore in his abrupt and vicious revival. The warbuild's cooling fans ran high and he did his best to suck in some cool air to calm his systems.

How long would that lifelike dream have continued if he hadn't been so desperate to deny its conclusion? Megatron did his best to shutter out whatever dark place it came from. It was easy to cut away the emotion. Even one so embedded within him.

He reactivated his em field jammer and it grounded him, finally pushing away any excitement from the last flickers of imagery from the dream. He freed himself from the tangle of berthsheets, guilty now that he witnessed exactly the damage he wrought on them. Doing his best not to injure anything further, it was best to rinse himself clean of the shame of the night before so he headed to the shower. It would cool off his nerves.

Although his frame was clean, his mind was anything but. The washfluid would do no good to tear his neural net away from the unanswered questions.

When Megatron finally emerged from the shower he was jolted to see Ratchet waiting out there for him.

Ratchet's grim expression confused him until he spoke, "It wasn't a good wish then."

For a moment, Megatron was confused. But the events of yesterday came rushing back to him passed the confusion of the morning. Megatron must have looked faint because Ratchet rushed forward.

"Are you alright?"

Ratchet touched him. Allowed him to brace up against his frame. His cool metal pressed delicately against his. It made Megatron's tanks roil but he rested his servos on the medic's shoulders. "Ratchet."

"I warned you both about this," he fretted, checking over his patient, "What did you feel?"

Megatron wanted to draw the real medic into his servos, to apologize profusely for the images that haunted his recharge. Instead he drew back, no longer relying on the support of the smaller frame.

"It was nothing."

"'Nothing' doesn't ruin a set of my sheets." Ratchet met his optics and frowned, "She must have been frightened by you. She emits her own emotions and yours."

"Frightened is not the word I would use," Megatron admitted.

He felt backed into a corner with Ratchet being so close to him. Desperately, he picked up the medic and set him aside.

He seemed a bit miffed to be pulled aside like that and pressed the issue. "What happened in it?"

Megatron stepped away, suddenly wanting to escape the Autobot, "Nothing of importance."

"Pardon my curiosity, but I think I should know," Ratchet paused. His vocalizer cracked a little.

He would question until he got his answer, so Megatron countered with his own, "What did you see in yours?"

Ratchet flushed bright and turned his helm down and to the side, "I…I saw Optimus again."

Megatron felt himself frown at the sickly sweetness of that, sneering, "How faithful his lap dog remains."

Ratchet flared up with that, "I understand you think I was Optimus' personal harlot. But you'd be to blame for that too. I'm sorry your dream of him was so violent."

"It wasn't Optimus," Megatron replied, "It was you."

"What did you do, rip me in half for annoying you?" Ratchet folded his servos, "If I'm half a thorn in your side as Starscream was, consider it payment for your treatment."

Before Megatron could stop him, the medic picked up the crumpled berthsheets, huffing something about replacing them.

"I'm leaving but don't forget your morning energon," Ratchet called back to him.

Ratchet left, desperate as always to be away from him tossing out a casual servo.

Once Megatron found himself alone again, he covered his faceplate with his servos. Primus, this had gotten out of control. The more he lingered on the past few days, the more he realized he was growing unhealthily attached to the Autobot medic.

The self-sacrificing bastard was too hard to read, and of course he pretended as if nothing happened a few nights ago. Granted, Megatron had been the one to lean in but Ratchet closed the gap and kissed him. Then out of all things, Ratchet finally touched him, even if it was so casual. He would fry his circuitry trying to figure out why.

He would return and get irate about Megatron not eating so he did his best to recover from the strange churning of emotions within his spark. Ratchet was the one bot that would pick up on them and one bot who couldn't know.

Ratchet seemed bright and happy on his return from the trash, "Did you take your energon?"

Megatron pushed a cube to him, his own sitting by the counter.

"Oh, thank you." An awkward silence that followed, at least to Megatron. He didn't know what to say after his rather rough morning and the older bot seemed to savor the energon.

"Do you work today?"

"Tonight yes," Ratchet didn't smile, but seemed happy about the knowledge.

"You should rest then," Megatron looked at his energon cube, watching it ripple with each movement.

"Soon I suppose."

A heavy silence filled the room and Ratchet drained down the cube and set it on the counter. With nothing to keep his servos busy Megatron noticed he rubbed against his own digits.

"How was the hospital?"

"It was fine," Ratchet bit out far too quickly, a little softer he repeated himself, "It was fine."

"Is that younger Autobot still pursuing you for the Council initiative?"

"No, he's calmed down. Most of the office is under the impression I'm suffering mentally. Luckily, Cybertronian infrastructure isn't developed enough to have referrals. Usually I have to determine if the patient is at risk and there's only a handful of social assistants and alienists to refer them to."

"Why are you suffering mentally?"

Ratchet's optics flickered up to the harsh glare of the warbuild, who leaned in to study him.

"To them, I lost a patient, remember?" Ratchet met his gaze, "Any stress you put on me can easily be explained away with that."

from Megatron flicked the edge of his cube and then grasped it to lift it up to his mouth.

Ratchet stretched, "Do you mind cleaning up? I'm going to try and get some rest in my uncovered berth."

"Do you have any patients coming today?"

"No," Ratchet walked away, waving a bit as the door shut behind him.

Megatron dutifully cleaned.

He almost laughed. With the dissonance of his terrors, it felt surreal being in this strangely domestic situation. Almost as if the war was some far-off nightmare and this was where he truly belonged.

That wouldn't do. Soon he would be turned away from this strange island. Covertly taken to live on Junk or some far off planet where he would not be allowed the companionship of another. Ratchet didn't have to be lonely, he could afford to be positive. What Megatron needed was to continue to feel angry at him for saving his life.

He wanted it all to end.

The noised of the door opening and the movement of Ratchet poking his helm out made him jerk.

"Hey, Megatron," he sounded irate, "Since you ruined my berth, lend me your warmth."

The warbuild masked his surprise, smoothing over his faceplate and calming his raising optic ridges. Any noise or words he could say now would only betray the very thing he'd sworn himself to only a few moments before.

Ratchet seemed just as terrorized by his presence, flinching as Megatron loomed over him. He was frozen in the doorway so Megatron gestured inward, "After you."

For the most part, Ratchet ignored him and flopped onto the berth. Although he didn't pat the berth, or point out where the hulking enemy should lie, Megatron clambered in after him. The Autobot sank a little with the weight of the other mech on the berth.

"Ratchet," he began, burning with questions.

The medic turned, meaning only to look over his shoulder, and rolled into the divot of the other's weight, "What?"

He rolled too close for comfort. Guilt wracked his processor but he couldn't help but wrap his servos around the back of his berthmate. This was far too good to interrupt with prattle, "Nothing."

Surprisingly, the white and red mech curled up into the sparkbeat of the warlord. He seemed unfettered that the massive bulk of his enemy was pressed against him.

"Why, Ratchet?"

But he knew the medic was already asleep.

Anything besides embracing him would be a betrayal, but Megatron was tired of denying his own senses. Especially so close.

Megatron trailed a single digit along a seam of his shoulder, the one open and exposed. It was a forbidden comfort. He should have more self-control; he was a war hardened criminal. Yet, it felt so nice to trace the hardlines of Ratchet's armor. To rhythmically wander to and fro on the plating of the ambulance. He would listen for him to awaken, to show hatred and chagrin for the action. But if he touched lightly, and nuzzled softly perhaps he could buy himself the lingering chance to imprint this moment into his memories.


	12. Chapter 12

Ratchet could feel when Megatron began his gentle touches the night before but all it accomplished was to soothe him into a deeper recharge.

When he woke up, Megatron was gone. His warmth lingered close to the sparkplating.

 _Don't get too comfortable you old fool,_ he chided himself inwardly, knowing not to linger in the feeling. He stretched out his joints in hope to escape the warm fuzzies and yawned taking a moment to reflect on what exactly he'd done.

Ratchet knew he was playing a dangerous game that Megatron wouldn't entertain much further. He showed a degree of kindness or confidentiality by not mentioning the kiss. But it was fishy that he willingly cuddled up.

There were only a few days left to be blackmailed, so the warlord was running out of time. Electracae's event loomed closer and closer and remained an unknown deadline to his houseguest. Of course, Megatron also had the decency thus far to not attack him. It was all a little too fishy.

But they hadn't discussed the kiss or his need for comfort. Ratchet knew why _he_ hadn't confessed. Telling the Decepticon how lonely he was despite being surrounded by Autobots wasn't his idea of a good time. How the Council split apart Team Prime and Ratchet couldn't talk to anyone about the war with any degree of comradery. It wasn't exactly a workplace topic. But what reason did Megatron have for not torturing him with his weakness?

He had no qualms teasing him about First Aid or even Optimus. But on this subject, he seemed ominously silent about Ratchet's major transgressions.

A tingling edge of guilt hit him. Megatron had nowhere else to go. Maybe he felt pressured to entertain his whims. Then maybe Ratchet was too selfish to stop. He stole away Optimus, the least he could do is make it up to him.

But he was basically cuddling up with a mass murderer. Maybe he should get his processor checked out.

Ratchet rolled out of the berth, he would have to hurry out. He hadn't told Megatron yet that he was taking a few days off work at the hospital and then working when Megatron would be extracted. It would throw anyone off his trail for sure.

But he wasn't too sure he could spend that time with Megatron. They would probably get into fights, or worse.

Ratchet didn't even acknowledge Megatron, who was bound to be lounging on the couch. A picture of calm repose. It jarred him to see him so calm, like it was in the old days, instead of claw deep in the energon of another.

With a hushed whirr, the front door closed and the heavy clunk signaled it securely locking into place. For now, Ratchet was to himself. He would have time to think and time to retrieve more berthsheets for the ones torn from his berth.

The only problem was, Ratchet had no idea how to go about it. He only ever went to the hospital, the energon dispensary, and home. He'd never really had a need for much else.

Embarassed, Ratchet activated an old comm link and called out, "Bumblebee?"

It was possible the old scout deleted his war codes or deleted his communication protocols. But as Ratchet stepped into the elevator, he heard an incredulous reply.

"Ratchet? Is that you?"

Relief surged through him, "Who else would it be?"

"No one, I guess. Wow it's been a long time, we should meet up."

Ratchet felt a draught of lonliness hit the bottom of his tanks, "Yes, can we? I was hoping you could help me with something."

"Of course, ping me your location and I'll meet you halfway."

How troublesome. But Ratchet obliged and Bumblebee immediately pinged back a location that Ratchet didn't really know.

No wonder Megatron was envious of his ability to move about but how would the tables be turned if this was Megatron's Cybertron. Would Autobots be able to walk around freely or would they be subjugated?

"Ratchet?"

Bumblebee's crystal-clear voice cut through his worry and he looked up at the older scout, "Hello, Bumblebee."

"It must have been…years since I last saw you!"

Bumblebee came in for a tight squeeze and Ratchet flinched. It was a long time since someone had hugged him this close without an ulterior motive. He relaxed and patted the scout on the back, leaning into the hug.

Bumblebee was a little stronger than he remembered as he pulled away, "So nice to see you again."

"Of course," Ratchet nodded, studying Bumblebee's optics. "How have you been?"

"You know, the academy and all that," Bumblebee shrugged. Ratchet was glad for a detailed report, "I'm more excited to talk about you. What brings you out here?"

"I," Ratchet paused, "I'm looking for new berth sheets. Mine got ripped."

Bumblebee nodded sagely, "I know that feel."

The scout was more colloquial than Ratchet remembered, "Yes, I was hoping you could helping me find the right ones."

Bumblebee registered surprise before patting his back, "Of course, Ratchet."

He tried not to be irritated by Bumblebee's treatment, his pity that dripped through in every start to each conversation. Ratchet autopiloted through the conversation of how things were at the Academy, at the hospital, with the others, and at home.

"I know who you've been hiding in your apartment," Bumblebee leaned in to tell him secretively.

Primus it gave his spark a sudden twist, "You do?"

"Yeah, that new idol, what's her name?"

Ratchet's shoulders sagged in relief, "Electraceae."

"Yeah, man that must be great."

"I'll see if she'll meet up with you," Ratchet offered.

Bumblebee practically glowed, "Oh wow, the guys back at the Academy will be so jealous."

Ratchet smiled at Bumblebee but inwardly panicked. Then again, Bumblebee was an old friend.

"Bumblebee?"

Ratchet interrupted him so the scout seemed very surprised, "What is it?"

"What would you do if Megatron returned to Cybetron?"

Bumblebee was no longer the soft bubbly scout. His optics rotated as his glare hardened, "At best, I would detain him for processing. At worst, I would make him pay for what he did."

 _Imagine that, he wouldn't save him and let him sleep in his berth_.

"What would Optimus have done?"

Bumblebee frowned, "I don't know. He isn't here. What is all this about?"

"You're right," Ratchet said absentmindedly, "He isn't here."

Bumblebee studied him, "Is everything alright, Ratchet?"

"Yes," Ratchet nodded as if to prove it, "Everything is fine. I'm just thinking about the past a lot lately."

"I understand," Again, the pitiful tone that erupted from the younger bot didn't soothe his worries or make him feel less alone.

"Why don't we go pick out those berth sheets?"

After Bumblebee helped him pick out a rather plain set that would fit his berth they had a lunch. The whole time, while sipping energon with additives, Ratchet could only worry about his houseguest. He nodded and smiled at all the right times, listening to Bumblebee prattle on about his police work.

They all were coping in their own way. Bumblebee was still chasing Decepticons. It was the only thing he knew. Ratchet was far more attached to him than the others. He was glad the scout was finding his own sliver of happiness.

"We should do this again sometime," Ratchet spoke softly.

Bumblebee's optics widened, "Really?"

"Of course."

He fidgeted, "I'm glad you said that. It seems none of the others want to talk to me much anymore."

"Just don't ever end up on my medical berth, I'm not sure I could stand that."

"I'll be safe, Ratchet."

They said their goodbyes and he watched the young bot speed off into the dipping sun.

* * *

Ratchet came back early.

It was only a few hours before Ratchet returned to the apartment. Megatron had assumed Ratchet was off to work. Now it seemed he would remain in the apartmet.

"Is there anything you want to do tonight, Megatron?"

An odd question from the medic.

"There is not much to do. You don't have a vis screen and unless you want to play doctor, there is nothing else in this apartment that indicates you have much entertainment."

"Then, will you help me put these sheets on the berth?"

Megatron vented out, studying the small bot in front of him, "Very well."

Ratchet always moved in front of him, his hips swaying slightly as he calmly walked in front. He wasn't guarded or afraid but it didn't mean he wouldn't slice Megatron apart the moment he felt threatened.

As he began unfolding the sheets, Ratchet did something a little more unexpected.

"Megatron, I'd like to apologize to you."

Megatron said nothing, merely handled his side of the silky-smooth sheets.

"I shouldn't have kept you here so long and I should have had a more definite plan. I should have gotten you admitted into Cybertronian culture. I'm sure with my connections I could have done it."

Megatron didn't know what to say, so he changed the subject, "Why do you listen to Earth sounds?"

Ratchet looked a little hurt that his apology was pushed aside, "They help me sleep."

"Do they make you happy?"

Ratchet looked down, his optics beaming out from behind a troubled visage, "They remind me of happier times. I know that sounds stupid, but the last time Optimus and I were happy was on Earth."

"You still miss him then."

"I miss what he could have done. How much he could have saved."

"You saved me because of him," Megatron smoothed down the sheets over the berth, not looking at the medic.

"I want to save everyone. I want to fix everything wrong in the world."

"But I caused it," Megatron pointed out, "I caused the trouble you're trying to fix."

"But," Ratchet looked angry to be contradicting himself. "But you shouldn't be left out of Cybertron because of that."

"That was my choice," since Ratchet wasn't handing over the top sheet, Megatron rounded the berth to retrieve them.

"Don't lie to me Megatron you miss this world. And you have a lot to offer, the things you said before you went power mad weren't wrong. You could still make a difference in this world-"

Megatron interrupted the medic with a kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

It didn't surprise Megatron to feel Ratchet push against him. Two firm servos forcibly lifted and he complied to the implied denial. But to see the medic's faceplate turn away, flushed with guilt and optics looking down, did make him wonder.

"You don't have to do that," he muttered.

Megatron wanted to crane his faceplate to him. To trap that helm in his claws and study the shreds of emotion that were sure to linger in those bright blue optics. He'd not seen much range of emotion from this Autobot since the beginning of the war. "I don't have to do what?"

"Kiss me," Ratchet straightened, collecting himself piece by piece and flatting out his micro-expressions.

Megatron let out a half-laugh and almost growled again, "You think I have a mind to kiss you because I _am obligated?_ "

"You aren't.

"Ah," Megatron found himself irritated that his motives were being purified. He reached out for the medic.

The Autobot flinched but could do little once his servos were trapped in claws. I was far too easy to shove the smaller bot backwards, to move him like a puppet and bend him to his will. It was far too satisfying to see his plating tense in anticipation of a fight as he leaned back and twisted away his servos from the warlord's grasp.

"Me-" but Ratchet cut off as Megatron loomed over him, trapping him against the berth and his pylon servos.

He paused, letting Ratchet collect himself, still doing his best to mask his emotions. Ratchet was a medic frame. He was allowed no facial mask to hide his feelings and instead had to mask them himself. What would it take to render that self-control from him?

"I have you trapped, Autobot," Megatron pointed out.

Ratchet defiantly lifted his helm, optic ridges furrowing in frustration. He opened his audial to spit out some violence but Megatron wouldn't allow it.

He kissed the Autobot again. This time he was quick to riot in some way, biting out at Megatron's lips with flat denta. But he wasn't afraid of a little pain.

"Come now, Ratchet," He spoke hushed to the bitter old bot beneath him, pushing their helms together, "Do you really want to bring biting into this?"

He kissed the Autobot a third time. Surely _this_ time those surgical tools would come out and the medic would threaten for him to back off. But no, Ratchet's digits grazed his chin and a servo swung over his mantle.

Ratchet was clinging to him.

Perhaps cling wasn't the right word as he dug his glossa into the medic's mouth. He paid the medic back in kind for the little nip. His own sharp denta digging trails into Ratchet's lips. He could taste energon.

Megatron pushed Ratchet against the flat of his chestplating, pushing him to sit on the berth.

"Why?"

Megatron raised an optic ridge, "Why what?"

Ratchet balled his servos into fists, "Why are you kissing me?"

"I want to," Megatron leaned forward to continue but Ratchet wised up.

He pushed against Megatron, a warning of his strength, "Why do you want to kiss me?"

Megatron tilted his helm up to sneer at the medic, "For the same reasons you want me to kiss you."

There was no denial. As much as Megatron wanted the reasons for it, he knew not to be an opponent of opportunity.

He advanced, placing a ped on the berth to settle down possessively over the medic. Ratchet remained cautious. His optics flickered to each subtle movement. So, he remained aware of each digit, servo, and joint which could bring him ruination. Yet he made no move to stop it.

Megatron knew the medic was wary so rather than make a frontal attack he studied his opponent.

Megatron remembered Orion in this moment. He was always greedy for whatever was given to him. He never failed to voraciously consume the words and affection he received. When he was Megatronus, he could exhaust himself on the librarian and it wouldn't be enough.

But how did Orion treat him? Or worse, how did the Prime treat his equal? Was it with gentle touch?

Megatron kissed the palm of Ratchet's hand and noted the way the medic's optics widened. He gently turned the servo with his claws and kissed the top. His red optics zeroed in, wondering if he would turn away from his stare. But the medic's optics surveyed him with a weary wariness.

Teeth grabbed and dragged across the sensitive cabling on his wrist before the warlord planted another kiss there. The next beneath his scanner and turned to the other side of his forearm. When Ratchet began to squirm, he planted another on his lips.

At every attempt the medic made at speech, Megatron sealed it with a kiss. Pushing his glossa into the other's mouth, nipping at him if he got too complacent. He gave up each beginning and let Megatron kiss down his neck cabling. When he nipped at the medic, his frame flinched and he turned his helm so he could finally speak again.

"How many times are you going to kiss me?" He was breathy from the constant stimulation.

"Until it's all you think about." Megatron placed another gentle kiss on his grille.

It was too much; Ratchet forced his knee plating between them before leveraging Megatron back. He placed the flat of his wheelbeds on his chestplating, keeping him from returning to his position.

The exertion to push the other away made Ratchet's chest heave. Then again, his venting was labored long before Megatron dared to kiss his midsection. "Stop," he finally huffed out.

Megatron gently eased the wheeled ped from his chestplating, leaning his helm against it, "That isn't in my programming."

"Of course it isn't," Ratchet grumbled as the warlord placed another gentle kiss on the white of his wheelbeds.

Megatron leaned forward again now that the ped wasn't in his way. Ratchet turned his helm, expecting another kiss. As punishment, Megatron licked his glossa up the medic's faceplate.

"Primus," he breathed out as he felt the warlord kiss his audial fin.

He wouldn't admit it, but he'd be thinking about this strange moment for centuries after this encounter. Ratchet tried to pay Megatron in kind, tried to kiss his frame but the warlord jerked away. He was reprimanded for his efforts with another kiss. Sharp claws firmly caged his chin for the domineering warlord to invade his mouth with teeth and glossa. If it wasn't this Decepticon it might've been rather exciting to feel him pressing possessively over him, but the experience was tainted with the knowledge that he'd hate this later.

Megatron found a rather sensitive cluster in his neckcabling, Ratchet's flinch a dead giveaway. He wouldn't make a sound while Megatron nipped at the line, but he wanted to cry out with the ricochet of pleasure touched by loneliness.

"This is torture," he finally spluttered out. The words wouldn't make him stop, but maybe Megatron would stop seeking out such sensitive places.

Megatron lifted his helm and Ratchet hated the way he gently appraised him. There was no malice in his faceplate, only that same hidden longing. Ratchet wanted anything- a reason for all of this. Perhaps his seclusion was driving him to such tranquil actions. He expected them driven by hatred. If he could imagine the warbuild kissing him, it would be accompanied with pain, not these expertly placed caresses.

"Good," Megatron replied, "Turn around."

Ratchet flinched again and quickly grabbed Megatron's servos to prevent him from forcibly turning him, "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to kiss you," Megatron said evenly, "Nothing more."

Ratchet huffed and his optics searched the room. Granted, Megatron could easily turn him if denied. It would be far more satisfying if the medic willingly turned.

And he did. The Autobot slowly turned so he lay on his grille. "If you do anything weird..."

Megatron scraped a few digits along the small of his back and the medic went silent. When he leaned down to kiss it, he saw the medic close his fists around the now disheveled berth sheets.

Too much excitement. He didn't want the medic riled up right now. So he trailed down his peds instead.

No surface of metal went unkissed. No cable didn't feel the metal of Megatron's soft nips. He kissed him from chevron to pedtip.

It taxed the medic's processor the most. When Megatron finished with his backside, Ratchet's optics were a white-blue from the effort to keep himself composed. It truly was torture. No bot could kiss him without reviving these memories and he couldn't bring up memories of kisses without Megatron's there.

Megatron rubbed his chevron gently. Ratchet finally closed his optics and leaned in to the touch.

"You can sleep, I'll only keep kissing you."

Ratchet looked up at him, meeting his optics before nodding. Megatron let him close those white hot optics as he continued to kiss him until the roar of his engines slipped into a low hum.

* * *

Next chapter is last.

Requests open for now. HMU in that PM life.


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